


A Sea of Troubles

by kynikos



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Actually define happy ending, And a history lesson, And the readers will probably be happy when it does, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chiron - Freeform, Debatably good Luke Castellan, Gen, Good Luke Castellan, Hamlet - Freeform, In like chapter eight, It does end, Mental Anguish, Midwest, Omniscient Narrator, Percy dies in the beginning, Quests, Rome - Freeform, Star Wars References, Sympathetic Luke Castellan, The Romans are basically just soldiers in this like they should be, The gods are useless, There's foreshadowing and everything, but plenty of angst, kronos - Freeform, moloch - Freeform, plenty of them, yeah let's go with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25305217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kynikos/pseuds/kynikos
Summary: Long ago, when Rome reigned supreme, a new city - a new empire - rose to challenge it. Now the Great Prophecy promising a Hero of Olympus has been broken, and the Hero is dead. The New City is returning, with all its old gods. And there are no heroes left to stop it.
Relationships: Luke Castellan & Annabeth Chase & Thalia Grace, Luke Castellan & Nico di Angelo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

We are the tellers of tales. We tell the tale of what could be, or what could have been, and in so doing we bring new universes to life.

We have told tales before. We have told the tales of princes falling in love, of knights slaying monsters, of the valkyries and of the amazons. We have told the tales of heroes.

But for every hero who gets a happily ever after, there are a hundred who die before ‘once upon a time’.

And in this story, the hero dies very close to the beginning indeed. So close, in fact, that we may skip over his life, mention his death, and then move on to what comes after.

First, however, let us set the scene:

  1. _New York. A secret haven. A camp for heroes._



_The god of the sea broke a vow, years ago, and fathered a son. That son was named Perseus, in the hope of a happy ending._

_That son returned stolen lightning to the king of the gods, and returned to his camp a hero._

_He died in the woods, only months later._

We, the tellers of the tale, wonder whether he is the hero of this story. A genuine question: if he dies before the beginning, can he truly be the hero? This story will follow Luke Castellan, son of Hermes; but he is the one who killed Perseus, and must of course be a villain, of sorts. Perhaps he is an anti-hero.

Perhaps there is no hero in this story at all.

Perhaps it does not need one.

* * *

Luke stabbed the boy through the chest and spoke the spell Chronos had taught him. As he did, the body melted away, until nothing was left but a dent in the grass and a ballpoint pen.

‘Anaklusmos. An honor to meet you. I hope you're fine with death.’ He bent and picked up the weapon, and uncapped it. ‘Will you allow me to wield you, I wonder?’ If the sword had an opinion, it didn’t speak it. He sighed and recapped the blade, watching it shrink back down to a pen. He placed it reverently in his pocket, and sheathed his own sword. Backbiter. One edge to kill mortals; the other for monsters. Both worked on demigods.

The earth shook beneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut; when he opened them, he was in another place. Somewhere where the very air stung his skin.

The voice that spoke – there always had to be a voice that spoke, didn’t there – was deep and full of gravel and grit. Not the glass-on-glass squeal of the damned, or the breathy, desperate gasping of the old Titans in their prisons. This was the true Voice, the one who Was even before the gods. This was Time, imprisoned in the pit and helpless to stop his own passing. But he could give bad dreams. And that was enough.

‘There was a prophecy, boy,’ said Chronos. ‘A prophecy that you have just averted.’

‘The great prophecy,’ said Luke, intentionally not pronouncing the capitals: everyone always said ‘The Great Prophecy’, as if it was a title worth remembering.

‘Tell me.’

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, must interrupt ourselves for a moment, although we have hardly begun. We must explain something to the reader.

The world is a strange place. Different tales leak into each other. Different lives are somehow interconnected; pull a single strand and the whole web moves. The world, as one massive story, loops in and out of itself.

Prophecies are cheats. Spoilers, one might say, for what is about to happen. Authors of fictions like to wrap their spoilers in cute little bundles of rhyme and crypticism, so that the real meanings of the ‘prophecies’ may be obscured until the time is right for further exposition.

Real life is not like that.

Real life is much stranger.

(A side note: sometimes, like tales, different prophecies will leak into different worlds. Thus it is wise to not always believe every prophecy you hear. You may be hearing something meant for another world than yours.)

* * *

‘Tell me, boy. Recite the prophecy.’

Luke tried to concentrate. The prophecy pushed at his mind like a hungry rat, trying to find a way in. He wrestled with it for a moment.

‘…six will turn it back. Three from the Circle, three from…’ he blurted.

‘Not of this world, boy. Focus.’

He grimaced, trying to find the thread of prophecy connected to his Here and his Now. ‘…thrice defied him, born as the seventh…’ he groaned.

‘No,’ Chronos rumbled.

‘…will bruise your head, and you will bruise his heel…’

‘ _No_.’

Luke gasped as he took hold of the right strand, and pulled it into his mind. He spoke the Great Prophecy.

‘Good,’ rumbled Chronos. ‘And by killing the son of Poseidon you have broken prophecy. You have wrenched this world out of its path into another. You, Luke Castellan, have changed the future. And that means you have changed time. And that means…’

Luke could not see Chronos. It was too dark, and the pit was too deep, for him to see the many shattered, scattered pieces of the Lord of Time, far below in the deepest part of Tartarus. But he felt the ground shake beneath him as Chronos shuddered and thrashed.

‘That means you have brought me closer to freedom. Even as I speak I feel myself heal. Go, now. Be at peace. I will send word when I have your next task ready.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Luke said. He felt his scar throb for a moment. Then he was standing again on the grass by the river.

He began to make his way through the woods to camp.

* * *

In the morning they could not find Percy. They searched the woods and the lake, called his mother in New York, and threatened the dryads and naiads. But he was gone.

Chiron contacted the gods. Poseidon, in a furious rush of panic, flooded the Bay Area on the west coast in a frantic attempt to find his son.

Zeus pretended to be sorry when it became clear that Percy was either dead or very much vanished. But it was a pathetic attempt, and Poseidon only grew angrier.

They had a funeral for him, at camp. They burned a new, hastily constructed shroud. Chiron offered the torch to Grover, but he broke down crying and couldn’t do it. Annabeth took the torch and lit the cloth, and started crying too, when the ashes finally rose into the air on a sea breeze. Luke put his arm around her shoulders.

He said a few words, after the service. He spoke about Percy’s bravery, and of his selflessness, and his kindness, and how he could have been a great hero. He said that he half-believed Percy was still out there somewhere, and he said that if and when Percy came back, he would be the first to welcome him home.

It was what was expected of him by Chiron. But even he could not make the words sound anything but hollow to his ears.

* * *

He knelt by the tree, that night.

‘You would have done this with me, Thals,’ he said, his mouth inches from the bark. ‘I know it. All that stuff you said, how you wished there was some sort of justice? That’s what we’re doing. That’s what he’s bringing back. This kid… you would have liked him, I think. You're kind of similar. Same stupid sense of humor. Same hair.

‘Anna’s not doing too well. She really cared about him, I guess. I mean, it doesn’t change anything, at the end of the day, but… I wish it could have been different.

‘But this is the only way to break the prophecy. And the prophecy had to be broken. And… well, I guess you know it all anyway. Your dad, my dad. Her mom. All of it. Has to go.

‘Hey, remember when we were in Houston, and there were those two guys giving that girl a hard time? And you went and beat them up, and we got the girl the taxi? And then I said I was going to find a gas station that sold Monster? I lied. I don’t know whether you know… gods, I don’t know. Are you dead? Can you even hear me? Are you in Elysium right now?

‘Anyway, I killed them. It was the first time I’d ever killed someone. Aside from monsters, obviously. I mean, someone that mattered. But I killed them, and it sort of freaked me out… I think you even said something, the next day, like, are you okay. It just sort of got to me, somehow. That they bled and the blood didn’t go away. I think I kind of expected them to turn to dust, like monsters do, you know?

‘You never killed a mortal, I know.

‘Anyway. Your blessing I beg, my blessing I give, so on and so forth. Be with me in the next few days, okay? You're the only person that could possibly be watching over me right now.

‘Love you, Thals. I miss you.’

He stood slowly and painfully. His knees ached, and he brushed off the dirt and pine needles.

He had no nightmares that night. In fact, he had only one dream; and in that dream, he was with Thalia and Annabeth, running from gods and men and all creation, and they were smiling, and they were happy.

* * *

_I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just came from FF, and dang, it feels good to be back here.


	2. Chapter 2

Boreas was the god of the north wind, then. One might say that he _was_ the north wind; but only in the way that one might say Phoebus Apollo was the sun. Apollo’s chariot was the bright light that mortals saw pass across the sky, on occasion; but there was still the star at the center of the solar system, and it did its duty whenever Apollo did not. Similarly, Boreas was the wind that howled round the north of the world, but the movement of air remained the same whether he was at home or not.

We say he was the god of the north wind _then_ because, of course, he is not anymore. Time has passed. But _then_ he reigned in his palace of ice in the north, blustery and violent.

After the death of Percy Jackson, Triton was sent from the court of Poseidon to speak to Boreas. Few beings know what was said at that meeting. We, the tellers of the tale, have seen much through the Eye; but we have not heard the words Triton spoke to Boreas, nor the reply.

It is enough to say that Triton died there, in the palace of ice.

The north wind has a short temper. He regretted the act as soon as it was done, but even a god cannot undo what is done (no god but one, of course) and Triton’s body faded to sea foam on the frozen floor of the throne room.

Poseidon’s rage burned hotter than the hellish depths of certain underwater volcanoes. He went himself to the palace of ice, and raised a wall of water from the depths. But Zeus had followed, and before the water crushed Boreas’ home like an oyster shell, Zeus touched his brother’s arm.

‘Wait, brother,’ he said. ‘You risk war.’

Poseidon’s eyes steamed. ‘He killed my son,’ he said, simply.

‘I cannot let you kill Boreas in return. There is already too much strife among the gods…’

‘Two of my sons are dead!’

‘One of them knew the danger he was in. The other was a violation of your oath.’

At that, Poseidon roared, his voice like the crashing of the sea.

Boreas’ warriors of ice began to rush from the palace, taking defensive position, preparing to fight the ocean. Merpeople appeared from the depths, spears and tridents at the ready.

‘Stand down!’ Zeus thundered, but the warriors ignored him. Lightning flashed in the distance, and his own eyes began to spark.

‘He killed my son,’ Poseidon repeated. ‘And for that I will have justice.’

He let the water fall, sweeping away great swathes of the walls of ice. The merpeople rushed in, and the ice warriors leaped to the defense. The battle was short. Boreas was dragged to the bottom of the sea, crushed under the immense weight. When it was done, Poseidon went again to stand before his brother.

‘You defied me before all the world,’ Zeus said quietly. Poseidon was silent. Boreas’ warriors were laying down their swords and being taken prisoner by the merpeople. Thunder rolled, far in the distance. The sea lapped peacefully around what remained of the ice palace. A single seagull circled around the two gods, cried once, and flew away.

‘I cannot allow this to go unaddressed,’ Zeus went on. ‘I am king. If my word is ignored, the world will begin to tear itself apart. Order must come first. Do you understand?’

Poseidon still said nothing.

‘Answer me, brother. What have you to say for yourself?’

‘I avenged my son. There is nothing more to say.’

‘That, I can understand. However, my understanding does not extend to your disobedience.’

Poseidon spat. ‘You are very proud.’

‘You are very foolish.’

‘Drag me before the council, then,’ Poseidon hissed. ‘Shout my crimes before the universe. Tell them that I punished an upstart wind god for murdering my heir. Sit in judgement before me. Try and condemn me. Go on. What do you think will happen then, o king, to order? Is the life of a wind god worth more than that of the prince of the sea?’

‘My command is worth more than either.’

Poseidon hit him. Zeus staggered back a step, shock and anger and fear and confusion flashing across his face. ‘How dare…’

Poseidon hit him again. Both times had been with his fist, a purely physical, corporeal attack. Neither of the forms they now wore were permanent; they were simply a manifestation of their presence, a reordering of molecules to form flesh and blood. But for a god to strike a god – for an Olympian to strike an Olympian – for anything at all to strike the lord of the sky himself – was a travesty, a perversion, a violation of everything that anything stood for. Boreas’ death was judgment. This was anarchy.

Zeus stumbled back again, his face flushed, his eyes uncertain. ‘How _dare_ you! I am your _king_!’

Poseidon laughed in his face. ‘How much longer do you think you will hold the throne if you go on valuing your commands over princes’ lives?’

‘I will…’ Zeus began, a threat forming on his lips, but Poseidon dissolved into air and mist before his eyes.

Zeus screamed, no rumble of thunder but a primal, animal scream of pure rage and frustration and injured pride. He lashed out with lighting, bolts scorching the air and ground, striking the waves again and again and melting the ice palace to nothing. Any merpeople or ice warriors still above water were vaporized before they could so much as cry out.

Finally Zeus, too, vanished with a clap of thunder and a puff of ozone.

There was quiet.

* * *

In every war, dear reader, there is a breaking point; a moment at which the opposing sides realize they can no longer go on in peace, and must fight. A moment when _delenda est Carthago_ is spoken for the final time, and the belligerents realize it is true; a moment when a shot in the dark is made suddenly public, and the public cries out in protest.

Sometimes this breaking point is accidental. Sometimes no one wants the war. In these moments, it is easy to look back through time, with the infinite, omniscient power of hindsight, and see where everything began to go wrong; see where the train of events began that led eventually to the breaking point. When two sides begin to split irreconcilably.

But other times the breaking point is intentional. Sometimes someone does want the war. Sometimes someone wants it very badly. Sometimes an archduke is killed, or a bomb is dropped, or a speech is made; and the war begins. In these cases we can’t simply look back and say, ah, there’s where this all started. These cases involve planning in the dark. Things happen which we can’t always see.

Where the second Divine War began, no one can really say. Perhaps it began in the destruction of the palace of Boreas. Perhaps it began in the days that followed, during which the Olympian council met in private and argued heatedly and long. Perhaps it even began with the death of Percy Jackson, back at the end of the summer.

We do not know what the moment was that began the war. But we know, of course, _who_ began it. It was neither Poseidon nor Zeus, eager as some may be to blame them. It was Chronos, in his pit, masterminding and planning and tugging on strings. He had been setting the stage since the prophecy had been made. He was ready.

* * *

The fall came and went. Luke stayed at camp. Chronos commanded it, so that he would be able to report the doings of Chiron; and, possibly, of the gods.

Since Boreas had been killed, the weather had gotten colder. There was no one to restrain the wind spirits, any more, and the winter was bitter that year. Since then, the gods had spoken to no one. Even Chiron knew nothing of what was going on in Olympus. The mountain was closed, and hardly anyone had been allowed to stay inside. The gods had sealed themselves off to decide what was to be done.

In the meantime, the world thrashed in uneasy restlessness. Monster sightings were more and more frequent, and the monsters themselves were becoming more aggressive. Luke was placed in charge of a team of three demigods, sent by Chiron to search for young half-bloods; but too often they were finding the children already dead, torn apart by creatures ready for a war.

The mortals were having their own problems. Border skirmishes had broken out in Africa, as agitated warlords began fights that escalated into campaigns. Venezuela bombed an adjacent colony. The CIA overthrew the government of a state no one had ever heard of, but which supplied France with a majority of their sugar; in response, Spain, Italy, and France declared an embargo on American trade, and the US economy suffered. A Mexican cartel burned a Honduran village. The world grumbled, unhappy for reasons it could not know.

Finally, in January, Chronos summoned Luke in a dream.

‘You will go to the west,’ he said. ‘You will lead a squadron. They are loyal to me and will answer to you; you will meet them on the way. Prepare yourself. You will leave tomorrow.’

‘What will I tell Chiron?’

‘It no longer matters.’

‘Why?’

‘On the west coast you will recruit a series of young half-bloods. I have found them, in dreams; they will join you readily. There are thirty-eight of them.’

‘Thirty-eight?’ Luke asked, incredulous. That was as many as he found in a year, if he was lucky. ‘And you know where each of them will be?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then?’ Luke asked, already knowing the answer.

‘And then you will come back to this place, and burn it to the ground. You will lead my armies against the corruption of Olympus, and you will raze it. And then… and then I will rise. And there will be peace.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Luke said.

‘Go.’

The dream faded, and Luke jolted awake.

* * *

_Perhaps, out of my weakness and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first two chapters are short. They do get longer. 
> 
> Leave a kudo - a kudos? - and a comment! Subscribe! Survive!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… we’re back. Welcome, one and all. I hope there’s enough seats…

_Two figures in a room. There is a table. There is a bowl._

_They sit, cautiously, both wearing cloaks and hoods and masks. They cannot see each other’s faces. They are nervous; their fear is strong in the air._

_One of them speaks, but you cannot understand them. You do not speak their tongue. The other answers. As they speak, their voices raise, and now their fear is stronger, and it is in their voices, and they begin to fidget._

_You can hardly see the movement, but one of them is holding a knife, now, and pointing it at the other. The fear is very strong indeed._

_They speak. You cannot understand, but you wish you could. Finally the knife is lowered. They seem to agree for the first time, and for the first time sly deception is in the air along with the fear. They do not trust each other._

_They bend over the bowl. One of them draws forth a coin from his robe – the other watching closely to see that it is a coin and not a knife – and places it in the bowl. They speak to the bowl. It speaks back. And, as the bowl speaks, the fear in the air grows, until it overpowers the deception, until it is all fear and only fear._

_You begin to be afraid, yourself._

_Finally the bowl is silent. They turn to you, and one of them says something to you. You cannot understand or answer, and he laughs._

_The other one draws forth the knife. He bends over you. He readies himself to strike. The fear is strong again, but now it is your own._

_Then there is movement, a scuffle, a shout, and then there is blackness. You sleep._

_You are not dead._

* * *

Luke packed a bag as soon as he woke from Chronos’ dream. He took only what was needed. A change of clothes. A knife. Another knife. Money. The two swords, Backbiter and Riptide. Nectar and ambrosia.

When he was ready, it was only about one in the morning. There were only two other campers in the Hermes cabin. Neither of them were children of Hermes. Luke blessed them silently and slipped out of the cabin.

The moon was bright, and he saluted it ironically. ‘Can you hear me, my lady?’ he whispered. ‘You will burn with the rest, for all your cold austerity.’

He walked to a spot in the woods, where he dug up a shoulder holster and a pistol. He had no idea of the model or type, or even what kind of ammunition it used. He did not need to. It had been enchanted by a witch in the Caribbean at Chronos’ order, and would never run out of shots. He had buried it because Chiron tended to frown on the more modern types of weaponry. He strapped it on, and walked back through camp to the Big House. Even though he was on the other side, there were politenesses to be considered.

Chiron was awake and in his office. ‘Good… morning, I suppose, Mr. Castellan,’ he said, and he sounded very tired. ‘Might I inquire as to the reason for your wakefulness?’ His eyes went to the bag Luke held.

‘I'm leaving,’ Luke said, and he put as much hardness into his voice as possible. Unfortunately, his eyes went to a photo above Chiron’s desk, and his voice broke – just a bit – on the last syllable.

The photo was of himself and Annabeth and Thalia, on the day they had arrived at camp. They were dirty and tousled, but – just like in all his dreams of them – they were all three smiling as they made their way up the hill.

‘I see,’ Chiron said. ‘And I also think I see, from the look on your face, that there is nothing whatsoever that I can say to make you reconsider.’

‘Right,’ said Luke.

‘Then… go with my blessing. And…’ he hesitated.

‘What is it?’ Luke said.

‘You know how proud I am of you, Mr. Castellan. You have done much for the camp. For your family. Please…’ and now it seemed that it was Chiron’s voice that broke just a bit: ‘Please remember that.’

Luke did not speak. He could not have. He nodded. And he left.

* * *

He knelt at the tree under the stars.

‘Hey, Thalia,’ he said. ‘I'm going. He’s ready. We’re going to do it. I… I'm excited, but I'm also nervous. It’s going to be all alright, though. It’s all gone according to plan.

‘Stay with me, alright? Watch over me. I’ll need it.

‘Love you, Thals. Miss you.’

He stood and walked out of camp for the last time.

* * *

We, as the tellers of the tale, know how the story ends (regret it though we might) and thus know all the important things that must be said. We know what the reader needs to know, and what the reader does not; and it is, of course, our task to bring you only what is necessary.

But in so doing it is hard not to ‘give away’ the story before the time is right. If we break away from the main thread of our tale and tell the reader something happening in another part of the world, it may reveal to the reader what’s coming; and thereby ‘ruin’ the story.

But we realize that in a story such as this, maybe it’s not that important to keep the story ‘unruined’. The story will end as it does whether or not it is given away. And this is not the sort of story that can be told with a smile and a wink, either. It might be almost unkind to leave the reader in the dark until the end, because there’s not much light there, after all.

In fact, now that we think of it, we might as well say: this story is not a happy one.

Go with our blessing.

* * *

Luke’s journey to his team was short and uneventful. It consisted of two taxis and seven buses, and he met them finally in the middle of a cornfield in Ohio.

It was the middle of the day – the fourth day since he had left camp, to be precise. In that time he had not slept, showered, or changed, and the only food he had eaten had been what he could steal from farmers’ markets and roadside stands. It was farm country, after all.

There were five of them. They were sitting in the shade of the only tree for miles; a sickly-looking white oak that was out of place in the midst of sprawling, stubby green. When they saw him, they stood and waited for him to get close enough to speak.

It was cold, and had rained a few hours ago. The ground was still soft and tacky, and as Luke walked toward them he had the distinct sense that if he turned and ran they would kill him before he made it five steps. He was very tired.

‘Greetings,’ he said as he approached. ‘You know who I am. Tell me your names.’

‘Paul.’ Paul was tall, with only just enough muscle to avoid being called skinny. He had mechanics’ goggles slung around his neck, as if to ensure that he fulfilled the grease monkey trope, which was what he seemed to be. Furthermore, he had a toolbelt around his waist. Luke managed not to laugh. _Tinkerer_ , Luke named him mentally.

‘Greta.’ Greta was blonde. Beyond that he could have said nothing definitive about her. Even her voice, in the two short syllables, defied description. She faded into the background of the group. If they hadn’t been standing in the middle of the plainest scenery in the Midwest, he might not have seen her at all. _Rogue_ , he thought.

‘Ulf.’ Ulf barked the name, as if eager to say it and be done with it. He _hulked_ , in a way that Luke had only ever seen in Beckendorf. A sword was strapped dramatically over his shoulder, and a Roman-style rectangular shield leaned against the tree, which Luke could only assume was his. _Paladin._

‘Fantine.’ She, on the other, hand, drawled it, generously prolonging the world’s pleasure in hearing the word. She wore a bulletproof vest but managed to make it look sexy, and both a bow and a bandolier were slung at her shoulder. _Ranger._

‘And I am called Teach,’ said the last one, who was the only one who looked unarmed. Besides that, he wore a suit. Luke immediately heard danger signals. He stood eye-to-eye with Luke, but Luke could have sworn he was about eight feet tall. He held out a hand to shake, and as Luke took it he saw a collection of scars. _Dangerous_ , he though. It would have been ‘leader’, but Luke decided to keep that trope for himself.

‘Luke Castellan. An absolute pleasure to meet you all. I hope you're fine with death…Did you rehearse this?’

‘Just once,’ the paladin grumbled.

‘Right.’

‘What was that ‘hope you're fine with death’?’ Teach asked.

‘It’s a dangerous business, being a demigod. That’s just… how I introduce myself. Don’t question my habits. Have you been briefed?’

‘We were told our destination and that we were to collect thirty-eight new recruits. Also that we were supposed to wait here with you until a bus came to pick us up. Is there any more?’ Teach asked.

‘Not yet.’

And so they waited in the cold for half an hour until the bus came. No one said much. Luke thought, with a pang of regret, of the genuine happiness he had had with Thalia and Annabeth in the old days. This would be… much different.

* * *

The bus that was more of an RV – driven by magic, apparently – took them all the way across the country in the course of two and a half days. They pulled to a stop in the parking lot of an LA gas station.

They got out of the RV and stood in the parking lot, waiting. In less than a minute…

They were standing around the pit. Chronos spoke. ‘In half an hour, a van will pull into the parking lot. There is a child inside. That is the first of the recruits.’

‘Who else is in the van?’ Luke asked.

‘It does not matter.’

‘Understood,’ Teach murmured.

They were standing in the parking lot again.

‘What do you mean, understood?’ Luke said. ‘I want minimal casualties during this mission. Do you understand _that_?’

‘Perfectly,’ Teach said, and smiled. ‘But sometimes people get in the way. It’s not always my fault. And… it’s a dangerous business, being a demigod.’

They were standing in a circle, facing each other. It was noon, the first hot noon of the season. It was LA, after all. It never got too cold. They waited. There was nothing else to do.

The white van finally arrived. As soon as its engine stopped, Ulf and Fantine flanked it. Neither of them were armed, but when the driver stepped out and saw them he paled and looked around nervously. He was a skinny, balding man, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. The kind of person that gets overlooked in the crowd by dint of sheer unimportance.

‘Who are you?’ he asked as Ulf approached.

‘The real question is who’s in the car, dear,’ Fantine said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s a kid in there, isn’t there,’ she asked. ‘We want to talk to him. Her. Whatever.’

‘What do you mean?’ the man repeated.

The passenger door opened and a woman stepped out.

Unlike the man, she would certainly be noticed in a crowd. Possibly be in front of it. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine, instead of in the passenger seat of a white van from the nineties.

‘I’m guessing she’s the kid’s mom,’ Tinkerer whispered. Luke shushed him.

‘Oh, god,’ the woman said, her eyes flashing over the team. ‘Edward… I know who these people are.’

‘I'm not sure you do, ma’am,’ Luke said, stepping forward. ‘But we’re going to need to take the kid.’

She hesitated.

‘That wasn’t a request. Open the door.’ She did.

‘Honey, can you come out for a second,’ she asked into the car. The kid stepped out. A fairly nondescript eleven- or twelve-year-old, blinking in the sun. Fantine took the kid’s shoulder. ‘What’s your name, sweetie?’ she asked.

‘Mark,’ he said.

‘Alright, Mark. Why don’t we have a chat, okay? And my friend is gonna talk to your parents.’

‘Are you the CIA?’ he asked her. ‘What did my mom do?’

‘Nothing, honey. Come over here and I’ll explain.’

‘Mom?’ the kid asked.

‘Go ahead,’ the woman said, her voice shaking. ‘It’s okay.’

Fantine led the kid over to the other side of the RV. Luke heard her start with, ‘Have you ever noticed anything _weird_ about…’ before the man said, ‘Alright, what’s going on?’

‘These are the people from the camp,’ the woman said. The man blinked. ‘You mean…’

‘Just a moment,’ Luke said, just as Teach said, ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Luke stepped forward again, until he was standing between the woman and his team. He had never considered this scenario: that the child’s mortal parent would know about the camp. But now that it was happening, he realized – with a strange sort of detached surprise – that he was disinclined to take the easy way out and lie to her.

‘What are you doing, Castellan,’ Teach grumbled, but Luke ignored him.

‘I feel that I have to be honest with you, since I'm taking your son away from you,’ he said. ‘And we’re certainly not going to lie to the kid. There’s a war coming. And your son is an… important factor. But he’s not going to be fighting with Camp. He’s going to be… on the other side.’

The woman’s face registered only blank confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Whatever you think you know about the camp is wrong,’ Luke said, his voice low and urgent. ‘It’s not training heroes, not the way you think. It’s… brainwashing them, conforming them. Making them mindless stormtroopers for the gods, who rule over the world blindly and unjustly. We’re… we’re fighting against that. Against them. But we’re the good guys. Do you understand?’

‘No,’ said the woman. ‘No, that’s not true…’ _That’s not true,_ came the mental echo of Luke’s own tortured mind, Star Wars-like, as Chronos gradually showed him the corruption of the gods. _That’s impossible…_ ‘She warned me about people like you,’ the woman said. ‘She told me that you'd come and try to take him away.’

‘Listen,’ Luke tried to say, but she cut him off.

‘No. He’s not going with you.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to stop us,’ Teach said, from behind Luke. The cadence of his accent tripped over the words almost lovingly.

The woman leaned back into the passenger seat. Luke thought she was crying, until she reemerged with a shotgun in her hands. ‘You son of a…’ she began as she racked it, and Luke started to dive to the side.

A blue flicker raced past Luke’s head, flashing through the air and into her chest. She stiffened and the shotgun dropped from her hands. ‘Not…’ she coughed, and collapsed in a lifeless heap. Luke would always wonder what she had intended to say.

He turned to see what that had been. Teach was standing just behind him, hand out. His palm was steaming. ‘That’s called magic, Castellan,’ he whispered, and smiled. ‘Saved your life, you know.’

The man Edward shrieked and rushed around the hood of the car. Teach pointed. ‘No,’ Luke started, but the blue flicker darted out of Teach’s hand and struck the man full in the face. He tumbled over backwards as if he were a bad ragdoll simulation.

‘Damn it, Teach,’ Luke growled.

‘It’s all part of the mission,’ Teach said, his voice still just at a whisper. ‘You're welcome.’ He turned and walked to the RV.

Luke turned to look at the bodies. ‘Get them in the car,’ he told the tinkerer. ‘Make it look… I don’t know, make it look normal.’

‘Got it.’

Luke followed Teach to the RV. Inside, Fantine was showing Mark her bow. ‘Hey, kid,’ Luke said. ‘Welcome to the team. I hope you're fine with death.’

‘She says we’re gonna start a rebellion,’ Mark said, looking up wide-eyed at Luke. ‘She says you’ve fought in battles!’ _Echoes of Star Wars again_ , Luke thought. Only this time the other way round. He shook his head clear of the thoughts which hardly made sense even to him, and smiled down at the kid.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘We are. And I have.’

‘Have you killed anyone?’ the kid asked, with all the innocent excitement of the child he was. The image of his parents’ bodies flashed past Luke’s eyes.

‘Only the bad guys,’ Luke said. His voice broke, just on the last syllable. He was the only one who noticed.

* * *

_From this time forth, my thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s all for today, folks. Survive!


	4. Chapter 4

_You wake when the eating begins. You are in a hollow of stone, a tiny cave all to yourself._

_Somewhere close by, we are eating. You can tell, though you have no idea how you can tell. You make your way out of the cave and into the wider space of… a larger cave. We are eating in the corner. You join us, and though you don’t know us you accept us as friends immediately. We introduce ourselves, and you – with difficulty – respond. You speak our language only little better than that of the men in the room._

_You ask what happened, and we explain as best we can. I saved you, but how and why require subtleties of language that you cannot yet grasp. We shrug and say simply that the explanation is for another time._

_When you have eaten your fill, you return to the little cave, and sleep again._

* * *

The next recruit would be more difficult.

It was an older teen, someone who was already partly aware of their heritage. Aware, at least, that they were not like their peers. They would be in a car with their satyr guardian, and the satyr – so Chronos told them – would be driving them to a train station to make their way to Camp. This would be the last chance to get the recruit, unless Luke wanted to hijack a train.

They would have to stop the car, somehow. Teach wanted simply to shoot the satyr. Luke reminded him that they wanted minimal casualties. Teach laughed.

They decided finally to shoot the tires and take the kid then. As clean as possible, Luke said. No one needed to die.

They took up position. Ulf and Paul stood on both sides of Fantine, who held her rifle beneath a long overcoat. Teach and the rogue (Luke had already forgotten her name, and didn’t want to ask) were on the other side of the street. Luke was further down the street, scanning for trouble. He didn’t expect any, but it was never a mistake to be cautious.

‘Coming,’ Paul said. He had given them each a macgyvered radio thingy in their ear, which Luke had complained was too over-the-top action movie, and which the rest of them thought was a great idea. He wasn’t surprised, given that they were literally a stereotyped action team.

As the car passed, Fantine took the shot, blowing out the front right tire. The car swerved, but didn’t stop.

‘They're not stopping,’ Teach said. Luke sighed.

‘We can see that,’ he grumbled, but not into the mic. ‘Can you hit another tire, Teach?’ he asked.

A blue flicker slammed into the front left tire, and the car swerved again. And again, it didn’t stop.

‘Fucking satyrs,’ Ulf said, and Luke couldn’t have agreed more. The car was still coming towards him. He hadn’t wanted to cause a panic, but since it was now necessary, he pulled the enchanted pistol from its holster and stepped into the street. Standing directly in the path of the car, he pointed the gun at the satyr’s forehead as the car lurched towards him, riding two rims and smoking.

‘Stop,’ he said. Through the windshield, he could see the satyr’s face, and determination was the only expression he could see. ‘For Pan’s sake, I don’t want to kill you,’ he shouted, but the car didn’t stop. He fired. The shot shattered the windshield, and the car swerved wildly, but as far as he could tell he hadn’t hit either the satyr or the kid.

Passersby screamed and ran. He sighed. The car had, finally, stopped, and he walked towards it. The driver’s door opened and the satyr stepped out. ‘Are you Roman?’ the satyr asked, his voice shaking. ‘Look, I don’t want any trouble. I'm taking this demigod to New York, I'm not breaking any bylaws, I swear…’

‘What the hell are you talking about,’ Luke asked wearily.

‘Are you Roman?’ the satyr repeated.

‘No,’ someone said from behind Luke. ‘But we are.’

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, understand that the best way to convince a reader to keep reading is to introduce a touch of suspense into the tale. Thus we chose the above moment to interject a necessary note.

We feel that it is important that something is understood about Luke Castellan. He is not a hero. We wonder whether the readers can grasp fully the importance of that statement: he is not a hero. He was never chosen by any gods to fulfill any destiny. Yes, Chronos used him; but that was as a result of Luke’s rebellious, disillusioned mindset, rather than any sort of fate or prophecy.

Luke is not a hero.

Thank you for your understanding.

* * *

Luke turned. The person who had spoken was female, clad in actual shining armor, and holding a spear. ‘Put the gun down,’ she told him.

‘How many do you have?’ Luke asked her.

‘Enough. Put it down.’

‘I don’t know whether your ‘enough’ is the same as my ‘enough’. How many?’

‘Thirty-two,’ she answered. ‘Eight of them are archers on the roofs. Four of those bows are aimed at you. Put the gun down.’

Luke hesitated. An arrow shattered on the asphalt, just by his feet. He jumped and set the gun down.

‘Now put your hands on your head, and let’s join your friends.’ She pointed her spear behind him, and spoke into what looked like a normal walkie-talkie. ‘I’ve got five prisoners coming in in fifteen, Jaz,’ she said.

‘You'll have somewhere to put them,’ the radio squawked in response.

She gestured again with her spear, and Luke started walking, to where the other four were standing, surrounded by soldiers in equally shiny armor with drawn swords.

_Wait, what?_

‘Let’s move,’ she said. At that moment, her radio let out a screech that was mostly feedback. But there was definitely a scream buried in the white noise. She frowned and spoke into it. ‘Burns? Report.’

There was no response.

‘Burns.’

‘I think your thirty-two just lost eight archers,’ Luke offered. She kicked his legs out from under him and pointed her spear at his throat.

‘Tell your man to stand down,’ she said.

‘I would,’ Luke said. ‘But first of all, she’s not a man. And secondly… I forgot her name.’

She pulled the spear back, and Luke realized she was actually about to stab him. He opened his mouth to say something, when a shot rang out and she jerked to the side, and then fell in a heap. The soldiers in armor leaped to action, some forming a square around the prisoners and the others fanning out, drawing bows and pistols.

Suddenly the rogue was there, slashing at the soldiers closest to the prisoners. They collapsed, and Luke’s team armed themselves.

‘Damn,’ the tinkerer said as the soldiers closed back in. ‘I feel like we should have the Avengers music or something.’

Luke was half-expecting it, but it still came as a surprise when Teach fluttered his fingers and the blue flashes streaked out and took half a dozen soldiers in the throat. They crumpled.

‘Why didn’t you do that earlier?’ Luke asked as he blocked and struck back and forth with one of the legionnaires.

‘Tell you later,’ Teach answered, and he fluttered his fingers again, and another six soldiers collapsed.

The rest of them either ran away or died within minutes. When Ulf lifted the last one – shouting defiantly in Latin – and threw him through the satyr’s car’s windshield, Luke looked around. Besides the bodies on the ground, and the satyr and the kid still hovering near the now-demolished car, the street was empty.

‘Greta, by the way,’ said the rogue.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. Happens all the time.’

He heard sirens in the distance, but of course they were getting louder.

‘We don’t want to deal with the cops,’ he said.

‘Or whoever it was she was talking to on the radio,’ Fantine added. ‘Who are these people?’

‘Romans,’ the satyr said, then flinched when Teach threw him a smile.

‘So there _are_ Romans out here,’ Luke said. ‘I’d heard stories. I always thought they were just legends. But… wow. I wonder whether the Roman gods are around too.’ He went to where the kid was standing, half in and half out of the car.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What's your name?’

‘Lee,’ the kid said. ‘What is all this?’

‘I’ll explain in the RV. The cops are getting closer.’

‘No!’ the satyr said. ‘Lee. Do not go with these people. They’re… I don’t even know. But please, you have to trust me.’

Suddenly the kid was angry. ‘You’ve been lying to me for the last ten months,’ he said, and Luke was surprised at the hurt in his voice. ‘You said…’ He stopped. ‘I don’t trust you,’ he said finally.

‘You made the right choice,’ Luke said, and held out a hand. ‘Come on. Quick. I hope you’re fine with…’ He decided this was not the time to finish the sentence, and stopped.

‘I'm not going with you, either,’ the kid said. ‘You can all go fuck yourselves. I don’t want to get involved with any of this.’ He started to back away.

‘No,’ Luke said. ‘Listen, you're not safe right now. There’re other people who’ll be looking for you. People worse than… than us, or even them.’ He indicated one of the Romans.

‘Maybe,’ the kid said. But he kept on backing away. Luke grabbed his arm, and the kid threw a punch. It wasn’t very professional-looking, so Luke let it land. It hit him in the shoulder, and Luke used the motion to pull the kid back toward the other five.

‘You're coming, kid,’ he said. ‘You'll see later. You’re not safe out here.’

The kid hit him again. And this time - whether it was by luck or skill Luke would never know - it was a solid knockout punch, and Luke went down and out.

* * *

He woke up in the RV. Teach was standing by the bed. ‘You talk in your sleep,’ he said with a grin. ‘Who’s Thalia?’

‘If you ever say that name again I will kill you,’ Luke said, and his conversational tone more than anything seemed to throw Teach off guard. ‘And if you don’t wipe that grin off your face I’ll cut it off. That’s not a threat, it’s just a statement of fact. What happened?’

‘The kid manifested some of his godly power,’ Teach said. ‘He hit you hard enough to throw you ten feet. He took off running. Greta went after him, but she lost his trail a few minutes later. That was two hours ago. We got you back here. Nothing broken. Your head’s like a rock.’

‘Where’s everyone else?’

‘Weapons practice with the little guy.’

Luke swung his feet off the bed and stood up, looking out of the window. ‘What about the satyr?’ It was getting dark. The sun had just begun to set.

‘He got away. I would have killed him – no loose ends – but… they said you wouldn’t want him dead.’

‘Ironically, he’s probably the only person I do want dead.’

‘Why?’

‘I've got a feeling he’s going to tell some people about us.’

‘Oh,’ Teach said.

‘You said you would tell me why you didn’t use that magic earlier?’

‘Right. I can only use the magic under certain circumstances. Simple as that.’

‘And these circumstances are…?’

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather keep that information to myself.’

‘Fine,’ Luke said, and looked out the window to see Mark draw an arrow, nock it into Fantine’s bow, and fire it into a makeshift target all in less than three seconds. ‘Kid’s a natural.’ He looked around the RV. ‘I just realized… Where are we going to keep them all? Thirty-eight demigods?’

‘Well, we’re one for two so far,’ Teach said, opening the door and stepping down out of the RV. ‘Don’t get too ahead of yourself.’

* * *

 _If circumstances lead me, I will find where truth is hid, though it were hid, indeed, within the center_.

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark


	5. Chapter 5

_After a while, you come to learn our tongue. You eat, sleep, train, and fight with us. You kill with us, eventually. You become one of us._

_You learn of yourself all that we tell you, and we tell you all we know. But we do not know much. We explain that we saved you from those men because we were told to do so. We welcomed you as one of our own because we sensed that you could be a great warrior._

Why were they trying to kill me? _you ask one day. And we tell you truthfully that we do now know._

Who was it who ordered my rescue? _you ask then. And we tell you, again truthfully, that we are not permitted to say._

* * *

The world was cracking at the seams.

We, the tellers of this tale, have seen much through the Eye. We chose to do so, the better to tell the tale. But we could not bear to look at all that happened during this time. A crumbling world is an ugly thing, and ugly actions are performed in it. It was a bad time.

The gods – the smaller, minor ones, who had little to lose and no care for the greater good – had begun to squabble, turf wars between local spirits, brawls between weather deities to show their strength. The mortals fought, and the political climate of the world got colder and colder.

Many people died. Sickness, drought, famine, and the like spread, as the gods who were supposed to prevent these things went on neglecting their duties.

The Olympians had not shown themselves for over two months, by the time Luke’s team was ready to find their third (second?) recruit.

* * *

It was the middle of the day. They were in a park, all six of them, waiting. Chronos had told them that the kid would be walking in the park. A pink backpack. Headphones.

It had been two hours since they had arrived, and no pink backpack.

‘What if the kid doesn’t show?’ the tinkerer muttered to Luke. ‘How long do we wait?’

‘As long as we need to,’ Luke said, wincing internally at how cliché he sounded. ‘Chronos said they’d be here. So we wait.’

‘What if they died? Honestly. Chronos is strong, but he doesn’t see everything. He sees dreams, and that’s how he knows what they plan to do. What if something changed?’

‘We wait.’

At that moment a pink backpack appeared on the far side of the park, bobbing as its wearer took long, bouncing steps.

‘Let’s go,’ Luke said.

They had decided to let Fantine have this one, since she was one for one with talking-nice-to-kids-and-making-them-like-her. The others were supposed to spread out and make a perimeter, since this much godly energy, Luke reasoned, should definitely attract at least a few monsters.

He wasn’t wrong.

He watched as Fantine approached the kid and touch her on the arm. The kid turned and said something, and he would have seen what happened next if something hadn’t hit him in the back and knocked him to his knees.

He spun as he jumped back to his feet. Monster, obviously. Either a smaller-than-average Laistrygonian or cyclops, or something he hadn’t seen before.

‘Hail Chronos, brother,’ Luke said, hurriedly, just in case this was one of the creatures already loyal to the lord of Time. It either wasn’t or didn’t care about eating a friendly, since all it did was growl.

‘Right,’ Luke said, and drew Backbiter. ‘No guns in public, okay?’

It lunged, he swung, and it turned to dust. Whatever the passersby saw, they didn’t like it. They screamed and ran, except for the one or two who started taking photos.

‘Fuck off,’ Luke shouted. If they kept starting panics like this, they wouldn’t have that long to find the other thirty-odd recruits.

* * *

In order for us to properly describe the following scene, we (the tellers of this tale) must clearly describe its setting. The park which Luke and his team are currently occupying is called Lasley Park, and forms a block-wide square in the center of a rather busy industrial area.

Two paths run across the center, from corner to corner. In the center of the park is a fountain (irrelevant to the story, but possibly of interest nonetheless) built as a memorial to George Lasley, whose name graces the park. Lasley Park is bounded on all four sides by busy streets. Much happens around Lasley Park.

The park (and the grid of streets around it) is set diagonal to the cardinal directions. Thus, the sides of the park face northwest, northeast, and so on; and of course, the paths run north-south and east-west. Fantine and the newest potential recruit are at the end of the path to the north; Luke is in the center of the park, by the fountain. The others are spread out along the paths.

We hope that this brief description of the surroundings makes the imagining of this scene easier for the reader. Thank you for your patience.

* * *

Luke glanced back at Fantine and the kid – they seemed not to have noticed the monster and its death – and then scanned the park for any more trouble. Teach, a hundred yards away, met his eyes and pointed down the path to the south. Three men (or men-looking things, anyway) dressed in black leather biker gear and carrying baseball bats at their sides, were stomping up the path towards Ulf. None of them were under six feet four.

‘Think he needs help?’ Luke called.

‘Let’s go see,’ Teach said. ‘Where’s Greta?’

Luke looked around, but in this crowd he might as well have been looking for a specific blade of grass. ‘No idea.’

‘Fine,’ Teach said. He drew a sword. He and Luke started off down the south path just as the three bikers got close enough to Ulf to swing their bats. Ulf hopped back and, as the bats swung by his face, jumped forward again and took a knife-hand to the middle biker’s throat. He choked and gurgled, and the other two got ready to swing again. Ulf didn’t wait. He flung one arm out, hitting #3 in the face; then he jumped on #2 and tackled him to the ground. They rolled back and forth.

The biker Ulf had knife handed collapsed to his knees, windpipe crushed. The other one swung down with his bat to the rolling mass of Ulf and biker; he hit #2 instead of Ulf, and even while running, Luke could hear bones break.

Ulf jumped up, leaving #2 on the ground, and slashed out with his knife – the only weapon he had even brought to the park. #3 exploded into dust almost at the same time #1 finally died. The last one, thrashing on the ground, froze as Luke and Teach stopped next to him.

‘You smell different,’ he said.

‘Gee, thanks,’ Luke answered.

‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ the biker spat. Teach stabbed him through the chest, and he burst into dust.

‘You smell different, huh,’ Luke said. ‘I wonder what we smell like to monsters. I bet we smell like chocolate and coffee, and you smell like shit.’

‘Absolutely,’ Teach said, and laughed, but there was no smile in his eyes. Luke would have said something, but Ulf hissed and pointed. They looked. Fantine and the kid – all the way on the other side of the park – were running. Behind them were half a dozen harpies, claws extended.

‘I might have to use this,’ Luke muttered, putting a hand on his pistol. ‘Teach. Do your magic.’

‘Unfortunately, this situation isn’t ideal.’

‘No magic?’

‘Sorry.’ He didn’t look particularly sorry. They took off running.

‘Oh, no,’ Ulf rumbled from behind them.

‘What?’ But Luke had already seen. A pair of Laistrygonians had stepped out in front of Fantine and the kid, forcing them off the path. They were now running straight to the street at the edge of the park, a hundred yards away from them.

‘Come towards us!’ Luke yelled, but they couldn’t hear. Even if they had, it probably wouldn’t have been the best idea. He was starting to get the idea that there were a _lot_ of monsters in this park.

‘Is this a little weird?’ he said. ‘Who’s giving off this much power? I mean, there’s at least twenty…’ He cut off as a pair of joggers ahead of him sprouted fangs and lunged. Teach stabbed one and he stabbed the other. ‘Probably more, in this park… Is it you, smelling different?’

‘Almost certainly not,’ Teach grumbled. ‘Is it you? Who’s your parent?’

‘Hermes.’

‘So’s Greta and Ulf. Paul is Hephaestus. Fantine is Athena.’

‘You?’

He paused for a moment longer than he should have. ‘…Hecate, obviously.’

Fantine and the kid had run into the street, directly into traffic.

‘So either that kid is incredibly powerful, and Chronos didn’t particularly notice…’ Teach started, and then all the cars in the street flew about four feet into the air, and the ground shook, and the shadows of the trees and people started to move like they were alive.

‘…or someone else around here is,’ Luke finished for him, wincing again at the cliché-ness of it all.

The cars were only in the air for a few seconds. Then they crashed back down to the ground. The ground didn’t stop shaking, and the shadows certainly didn’t. Some even flew away. Fantine and the kid cowered in the street, hands over their heads, the cars stopped around them as people shrieked and ran in all directions.

Luke took a breath, scanning the surroundings. Chaos, running, screaming, weird magic as the shadows of trees danced as if their owners were swaying in a gale-force wind.

The car closest to them was in fact a limousine, all its windows now shattered. The back door opened and a girl stumbled out. ‘Stay in the car!’ she shouted, and closed the door.

‘I bet that’s her,’ Teach muttered. ‘I just bet.’ They had gotten to Fantine and the kid.

‘Hey,’ Luke said hurriedly to the kid. ‘Crazy, right? She’s told you some stuff, I think. Let’s get you out of here, okay? Ulf? Take her back to the RV…’

‘Are you all right?’ the girl from the limo called as she ran towards them.

‘There has been so much running today,’ Luke answered, loudly. ‘Slow down or one of us might get nervous and shoot you.’ He pulled his pistol to emphasize the point.

The ground settled as she slowed to a walk and stopped a few feet away from them. ‘I'm so sorry,’ she said, and Luke noticed that she was either crying or on the verge of tears. ‘I just… I saw them chasing you, and then you were about to get hit, and… I think I did this,’ she said, gesturing, as Luke’s shadow got up, brushed itself off, and ran away. ‘I'm sorry I'm crying… I think I'm having a panic attack. We’ve been in the car since we were in Vegas, and I don’t know where we are or when this is, and I… I don’t know why I'm telling you all this, I'm sorry… Did I do this?’

‘I think so,’ Luke said.

‘Can you turn it off?’ Teach asked. ‘I don’t like it. Do you like it, Castellan?’

‘First, what’s your name?’ Luke asked. ‘And what’s _your_ name?’ The first to the recruit, the second to the limo girl.

‘I'm Rose,’ said the recruit.

‘Just Rose?’ asked Luke. She looked only about fourteen.

‘Rose Bentwood,’ she said, with a little giggle. Luke hoped she wasn’t the kind of person who actually giggled, and that it was just shock starting to set in.

‘Great. And you?’

‘Bianca,’ said the limo girl. ‘Bianca diAngelo…’ The limo door opened and another kid – a younger boy, probably her brother – started to climb out. ‘Get back in the car!’ she shouted.

‘Wonderful to meet you,’ Luke said. ‘I hope you're fine with death.’

* * *

_I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres…_

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark


	6. Chapter 6

_You have been with us for almost three years. We receive word from the same person who commanded us to rescue you. You are to go, now, and return to your people. The people from whom you had been taken. Before you were in the hands of those two men._

_In time, we warn, you may fall back into their hands, or others like them. In that time – in your hour of need – we will come to you, and save you again. We do not forget, and we do not leave one of our own behind._

_You go. We do not show emotion, as a people. But we regret your leaving. You were a great warrior for us._

_Go with grace. Be well._

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, fear the reader may have forgotten an important point, over the course of the story thus far. So we will reiterate:

Luke Castellan was not a hero.

Heroes are chosen by gods or fate. Luke was not.

Heroes perform a service or sacrifice unto the greater good. Luke did not.

Heroes, if given the choice, would treat an enemy with forgiveness, compassion, and honor. Luke would not.

Heroes get a happy ending or a glorious death. Luke will not.

Luke Castellan was not a hero.

* * *

After a long and mostly redundant conversation with the diAngelo girl, they convinced her and her brother to join them for lunch at a café while Teach helped their driver – who looked suspiciously dead, in Luke’s opinion – fix the tire. While the rest of them were eating, Teach and the driver were attacked by a pack of cyclopes. The driver was killed and Teach only barely escaped with his life.

So he said when he joined the group. Luke rolled his eyes.

While they ate, they learned the following facts: the diAngelos were siblings. They had been living in a Vegas hotel for the last few weeks. They didn’t know who their parents were. They didn’t know who sent the driver to pick them up. They didn’t know where they were going.

‘So you just… got in a limo with someone you didn’t know, to take you someplace you had no idea about?’ Luke asked.

‘He showed us identification. Birth certificates and stuff. He said he was bringing us to our dad.’

‘Can I see the certificates?’

‘They were in the car.’

‘Teach,’ Luke said. Teach sighed and went.

‘What about the monsters?’ Bianca’s brother asked. His name was Nico, and since they had sat down he hadn’t stopped asking questions. First to Luke, and when Luke couldn’t take any more he had passed him off to the tinkerer.

‘He’ll be careful,’ Luke said. ‘Bianca. If your driver’s dead, what are you going to do?’ He nudged Fantine under the table.

‘He’s right,’ Fantine added. ‘You can’t just live in LA by yourself. That’s… never a good idea. Even for a halfblood. Especially for a halfblood.’

‘Well, what else can I do?’ Bianca asked. She was close to tears again. Nico, on the other hand, looked completely unconcerned.

‘Listen,’ Fantine said. ‘If it’s not pretty obvious already, you're special. Powerful.’

‘I don’t want to be…’ Bianca started, but Fantine kept talking.

‘We’re looking for powerful people. We’re like… talent scouts of the demigod world. That’s what we’re doing in LA.’

‘Like Hogwarts?’ Nico asked.

‘More like the Rebels in Star Wars,’ Luke said. Fantine ignored both of them.

‘Come with us,’ she said. ‘Join our team. At least while we’re in LA. When our… mission is done, we can take you somewhere you’ll be safe…’

 _Gods, I hope so,_ Luke thought. He realized that, without thinking about it, he had been picturing bringing the diAngelos back to Camp Half-Blood. That wasn’t an option anymore. There would have to be somewhere to keep the demigods that were too young… a camp for the people on Chronos’ side. Bianca, hopefully, would fight. But Nico was only about ten.

He was standing on the edge of the pit. Sudden vertigo flooded his mind. He swayed.

‘Careful, Castellan,’ the lord of Time said. ‘You wouldn’t want to fall in here.’ He laughed, once, hard and unkind. ‘I have new orders.’

‘Yes, my lord?’ Luke asked.

‘You will return to Olympus now.’

‘What? We only have two of the recruits!’

The air dropped about fifty degrees. ‘Are you questioning me?’

‘No, my lord. Just confused.’

‘We have all we need, now. This diAngelo is a new piece in the game. One I think we can use most advantageously… Go now. Bring me the newest addition to my army.’

‘Yes, my lord. We may have to promise her some security for her brother, in order to get her to come.’

The laugh again. ‘The girl is nothing to me. I speak of the boy.’

‘The… Nico? The little boy? He’s ten, my lord. It was his sister who made the earth shake.’

‘This is the second time you question me, and my patience begins to wear thin. The girl shook the ground and played games with shadows. The boy can see into hell. He walks in Tartarus, some nights, and makes Nyx herself tremble. The girl plays with shadows. The boy commands them. I can see it.’ The last few words had dropped to a hiss. ‘Bring me the boy. If the girl refuses to come, she dies. Dispose of the two recruits, as well. They are the weakest of the thirty-eight I found. I do not need them.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

* * *

In order to use the most common method of communication between halfbloods – Iris messages – one must have two pieces of information: the name of the entity you're trying to reach, and their location. Location is a general term, and Iris is vague about its actual meaning; in practice, ‘the Big House’ would be an acceptable way to contact Chiron, while ‘Camp Half-Blood’ would not.

Annabeth had been trying to reach Luke since the morning she had been told by Chiron that he was gone. She had started with places she thought were important, or at least meaningful, to him, and then moved on to a desperate dot grid of New York City – ‘Luke Castellan on Fourth and First. Luke Castellan on Fourth and Second’ – and when that hadn’t worked she had tried again.

‘What do you mean, his quest is his own?’ she asked Chiron, frustrated beyond belief, on the fifth day, while he was sitting on the porch of the Big House. ‘When you get cryptic like this, people get killed. And when you stare off into the distance like _that_ , I worry you're about to get even _more_ cryptic…’

‘Luke left in a distressed state of mind,’ Chiron said. ‘No, I will not tell you the details of our conversation. His words were said to me in confidence. But I will tell you this: he was heavily armed and carrying supplies to last weeks. He had a quest, unofficial and unapproved it may be. He still has it. And until he returns to camp-’

‘What if he never does?’

‘It is not wise to think such things of questing heroes. At the beginning of my long career, I would _worry_ about my heroes, when they were on their journeys. And it accomplished nothing but cause me needless heartache.’

‘Needless? Really? Percy’s _dead_. And he’s just the last in a long, long, line of…’ She choked.

‘And my worrying did not prevent those deaths, nor would it undo them.’ He looked her in the eyes. ‘Until Luke returns to camp, his quest is incomplete. And while his quest is incomplete, it remains his own. There is honor, in these things.’

‘What is he _doing_?’ she half-shrieked. The question was mostly to herself and mostly rhetorical, but Chiron responded anyway.

‘Do you know, Miss Chase, who was the most important person in Luke’s life?’

She stared for a moment. ‘Thalia.’

‘I should have asked, who were the most important people. Yes. Miss Grace and yourself. But I will go so much further as to say I do not believe he cared about anyone else at all.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Who else would you name?’

‘Yourself.’

Chiron laughed at that. A chuckle of genuine amusement, short and almost surprised. ‘If you believe that Mr. Castellan had any sort of affection for me, then I'm afraid, my dear, that you are greatly mistaken. No, I was not…’

‘Percy. Errol. Silena. And Charlie, actually. Bethany. Will.’

‘Mr. Jackson was, I think, the closest of any of those good people whom Luke could have cared about. He had a respect for those others, and would have called them friends if he had been asked. But there is something missing from him, from his personality, that allows him to make those sorts of bonds with people who have not suffered with him and experienced life as he has. Listen, now. You and Miss Grace came to Luke when he was at his lowest point. He had no one. His mother had cast him out. He was hunted and alone. Then he met you two, separately but essentially at the same time, and you saved him.’

‘He saved _us_.’

‘Partly, yes. But you and Miss Grace gave him the family that he had not had. You fought together, traveled together, lived together. You were everything to him, and you remained everything even after he had the opportunity to… expand his family, one might say. When Thalia was…’ He hesitated.

‘Murdered.’

‘Turned into a tree. He lost half of his family. You, Miss Chase, are all that is left to him. You can make friends and family here at Camp, and even among the outside world. But he cannot. He cannot move past the loss of Thalia, and he cannot bear to consider losing you.’

‘But why _leave_ ,’ she asked, her eyes squeezed shut to hold back the tears that had suddenly come. ‘If that’s true…’

‘Whatever he is doing, he does it believing it is for your good, believe me. I did not want him to go. I could not have kept him. But when he was in my office, he looked at that photo of the three of you – you know the one? – and for a moment I thought he was going to change his mind. He’s coming back, my dear.’

‘I still want to find him,’ she said, and went back inside to continue her Iris messages.

But before she did, she went to Chiron’s office, and looked at that photo for a long time. And Chiron sat on his porch for a long time, so as not to disturb her.

* * *

He was back in the café. Fantine was still finishing her sentence. ‘…and you can live there until we find who your parents are.’

‘We can go now, actually,’ Luke said, and suddenly he felt sick.

‘What?’ Fantine asked. Paul and Greta frowned. Ulf frowned too, but he was always frowning, so Luke couldn’t tell if he was doing any particular frowning at the moment.

‘We can go back to New York right now,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

He looked at Nico. The kid was five feet nothing. Black messy hair – he thought of Jackson, suddenly, and the sick feeling in his stomach grew – and a jacket about four sizes too big for him. He was wearing a smile that hadn’t left his face since he’d watched Luke put two shots into the foreheads of each of the harpies, back at the park.

‘Hey, kid,’ he said. ‘Do you ever have weird dreams?’

‘Sometimes,’ Nico said. His smile dimmed a bit. ‘Nightmares. Sometimes.’

‘You ever get the feeling that the nightmares are scared of you?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I really hope you're fine with death.’ Luke stood up. ‘Let’s go. Back to the RV. Then it’s off to find your parent… and we’ll overthrow an evil empire or two.’ The rest of them stood and made their way to the door.

He hesitated by the table. A second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five. Then, as Rose was about to close the café door behind her, he felt a stabbing pain in his temple that he knew came from Chronos. He gave up. ‘Rose,’ he called. ‘Talk to you for a sec?’

She came back to the table. ‘Yes?’

‘Just something I… need to show you. Just… follow me.’

He led her outside and around the café in the other direction from the group. There was an alley with a dumpster. He unholstered the pistol.

* * *

Coming out of the alley, he ran into Teach.

‘Found the papers,’ Teach said. ‘Read them.’ He looked behind Luke at the alley, then at the pistol Luke was reholstering. ‘Nico or Rose? It better not have been Nico.’

‘Rose. What were the papers?’

‘Birth certificates. From the 1920s.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. So what did Rose do?’

‘Chronos called. Said we’re going back. We just need… we just need Nico.’

Teach smiled, but it was thin and nasty. ‘I'm surprised you did it yourself. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be up for it.’

‘I would not ask someone under me to do something I'm not willing to do myself,’ Luke said, voice hard. He set off after the group. Teach followed.

‘So it’s Nico, huh. If she can make the ground shake and cars fly and all… wonder what he can do.’

‘Apparently he can frighten fear,’ Luke said, and refused to say anything more.

* * *

That night – after Mark disappeared – Luke knelt outside the RV. It was cramped in there. Too many ears.

‘Hey, Thals,’ he said, and broke down crying. When it was done, and there was nothing left, he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

‘Hey, Thals. It’s… been rough. I've had to do some stuff I didn’t want to do. I don’t…I don’t think you would have. But there’s no choice. I guess… I guess it’s always hard, making the good things happen. Bad stuff happens along the way. I don’t know if that makes sense.

‘I don’t really know anything anymore.

‘There's seven people in this group, now. Me, Paul, Ulf, Teach, Fantine, Bianca, and Nico. And the rogue. Eight, I mean.

‘I think you'd like Fantine. And Bianca. And even Paul, if he wasn’t being an idiot. Nico’s not that bad, either. He’s like… gods, Thalia, I don’t know how long I can go on doing this. He’s like Jackson. A little.

‘Remember when we got excited about things? Little stuff. Knives. Storms. Iris messages. We had… I don’t know, hope. Happiness. Something. He’s still got it, Thals. And this war will take it out of him. Like it did for me.’ He looked up at the stars, and sighed.

‘Love you, Thals. Miss you.’

* * *

The gods did not often show emotion. Some of the elder gods got angry now and then. Some of them got disappointed, or excited, or happy. Simple, uncomplicated emotions.

But when the god of the dead searched for a limousine driven by one of his undead that night, and found nothing, he wept on his throne of skulls, and his wife could not comfort him.

When he was done with his tears, he placed his helm of darkness on his head.

‘Where are you going?’ Persephone asked.

‘Olympus,’ he said. ‘To talk to some people. This nonsense has gone on for long enough.’

* * *

_The spirit that I have seen may be a devil, and the devil hath power t’assume a pleasing shape._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part about writing this whole fic, I think, has been trying to walk the fine line between taking myself too seriously, and not taking the story seriously enough. 
> 
> Comment, kudos, subscribe, do all those nice things! Survive!


	7. Chapter 7

It was a museum. The Mark Lowell Museum of Ancient History. Right in the middle of New York City. Nothing had ever happened here, it seemed. It was the kind of place you might imagine going to someday, and it was a nice building to please the eye of tourists atop their bus tours.

It was three months from the day Triton, heir of the sea, was killed by Boreas. Two days after a pair of demigods named diAngelo went missing. (Three days, incidentally, after a pack of werewolves was found dead in some Montana hills by a pair of mortal hunters who had nightmares about it for the rest of their lives.) And three days after Camp Jupiter, the last city of the Roman Empire, mobilized its Fourth and Fifth Legions.)

It was hot.

* * *

In the lobby of the Mark Lowell Museum, there was a circular help desk. In the center sits a bored woman wearing glasses, who is either eating an energy bar, reading a magazine, or pretending to help a visitor.

At one thirty-two, the front doors opened and six people stepped inside, immediately fanning out to cover all entrances to the lobby. There was only one security guard on duty, an overweight ex-cop who put a hand on his baton and got an arrow through his mouth. The receptionist shrieked, and the obvious leader of the intruders leaped over the desk and put his hand over her mouth.

'Shush, shush,' he said, and patted her cheek. His voice rose into a girlish shriek. 'I don't want any trouble! Just take what you want and go!' He pulled his hand back.

'What?' she asked, shaking.

'I'm feeding you your line, woman,' he said. ' _Listen. I don't want any trouble_.'

She was frozen, terrified, confused.

'Say it,' he spat.

'I don't want any trouble,' she gasped.

'Just take what you want and go.'

'Just… just take what you want… and go.'

'Don't tell me what to do, honey,' he said. 'Okay, listen. Where's the room with the magic stuff? The gold and bronze and silver? Ancient Greek?'

'Down… that hallway…' she stammered. 'Please…'

He was wearing a long black coat, almost a duster except for the lack of a collar. He drew a handkerchief from one of the inside pockets. 'Open up.'

'What?'

'Mouth. Open.'

She opened her mouth. He stuffed the handkerchief inside, and leaned in close until their foreheads were almost touching. 'Don't speak. Don't ruin the moment.' He jumped back over the desk. 'With me,' he called to the others, and took off running down the hallway she had pointed out.

The hallway wasn't long. It opened up at the end into a wide room lined with glass display cases. Inside each was a collection of ancient weaponry; swords, knives, arrowheads. Even some old, rusted pieces of armor. The room was empty of people.

'Find what you want, take what you need,' he told his group. 'Van. Watch the lobby.' Van nodded and took up a position next to the hallway. He went to the nearest case and read the sign. ' _Bronze forged in Greece. Mined near Olympus and considered by some to be holy._ A little on the nose for our friends on the hill, don't you think?' He broke the glass and pulled a knife off of the display rack. 'Looky here. Real, virgin celestial bronze. This is quality shit.' He considered it for a moment. 'Anyone want it?' No one answered, and he tossed it behind him. 'Me neither.'

'Sirens, boss,' Van said.

'I think I got it,' said another of them, looking at a display in the corner. 'Check it out.'

The leader looked at the sign. 'Silver, it says. Mined and forged in Tyre.' A smile spread across his face. He brushed hair out of his eyes and cracked his knuckles. 'Tyrian silver. My god.' He smashed the glass.

Inside the case rested three short swords on racks, along with an arrowhead. He pulled one of the swords free of the broken glass, and held it up. 'It is. Oh, boy.'

'Feel good?' asked one of them.

'Feels _great_ ,' he answered. 'I can think of about four hundred people who would be pissing themselves to get their hands on one of these. And they live in a place that starts with an R and ends with an ome. God damn.' He swung it experimentally.

'Sirens, boss,' Van repeated, more urgently.

'Right,' said the leader. 'Let's go. Grab the rest of the silver. Caros, get two imperial gold swords. Kat, get something made of bronze, I don't really care. Move.'

They obeyed. In less than a minute, they were running back down the hall, the leader swinging his new sword as he ran. He called out as they passed the receptionist, who was still sitting where he had left her. 'Bye, honey! See you later! Tell your friends and family you got to meet the Firstborn!'

Three cop cars pulled to a stop outside the museum.

'What do we do?' Caros asked.

'Shoot them. Six cops, six arrows, six of us. Don't miss. They have guns.'

They nocked arrows, pushed open the doors, and shot, all in what appeared to the receptionist as a single, six-part, fluid motion. All six arrows flew true.

'Let's go.'

The Firstborn took off running, into the city, as sirens wailed behind them, and radios squawked desperately in lifeless hands.

And their leader, whose name was Adam, laughed as he ran.

* * *

_When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but battalions._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now finally synced up the chapters with what I've posted so far on FF! Yay for me. 
> 
> Comment, kudos, like and subscribe. Ding that notification bell. Smash it, in fact. Gently, though. 
> 
> Survive!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a long version of a 'we, the tellers of this tale' aside. It is very important to me, and marginally important to the story. I will... kind of understand if you skip it. I would greatly prefer it if you didn't, though.
> 
> If you do read it, take your time and read carefully, so that you understand what happens later.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was an empire named Rome, and another named Carthage. Rome had sprung, phoenix-like, from the ashes of Troy; Carthage had ripped itself from the merchant-nation Tyre, like the evil god of the Iroquois tearing himself from his mother's womb through her chest. Troy died, and was reborn as Rome; Carthage was born, and killed her parent. We will speak of Carthage in a moment.

When the Romans worshiped, they worshiped the household gods. Jupiter, Mars, Diana; these were worthy deities, but they were not personal. They saw the Romans as a man sees an ant, and the Romans saw them as a man sees a mountain. Jupiter, proud and mighty in his thunder; Mars, dripping with blood and defying the world; Diana, cold and cruel, demanding sacrifice. These were not the gods the Romans held most dear.

Each Roman family, from the highest praetor to the lowest farmer, had at least one god whose image they kept in their house. They were called _lares_. We might, nowadays, call them spirits rather than gods; kindly, supernatural beings who kept the children healthy, the milk fresh, and the doorstep clean. In return for their blessing, the Roman families would leave out food or incense.

(When the Romans traveled finally to Albion, they brought their customs with them; and this Roman custom of leaving out food for the gods led to the Irish custom of leaving out milk for the elves.)

These _lares_ were familiar to the Romans in ways that the greater gods were not. And it was this tradition of small gods, close gods, pleasant gods, that was for so long the core of the Roman ideal; the ideal of home, and family, and a warm fire and a good meal. The wood of the household spirit, rather than the gold and marble of Apollo. You could pray to the god of thunder; but you could confide in the god of home.

Rome spread like wildfire. The idea of Rome was the idea of structure, of security. It brought the possibility of civilization to the greater world. What else existed at the time? The Afric, to the south: split into as many tribes as stars in the sky. The limping remnants of Greece, around the Mediterranean: fractured and broken, only a rusted shadow of what it had once been. Tribes to the north. Warlords to the east. The ocean, to the west, unexplored and impassable. Every day a new city was built, and every day another was torn down. Nothing was constant. Nothing remained from year to year, day to day.

And then rose Rome. Rome, with the promise of walls and rigidity; Rome, with comfort and strength and protection. And yet, unlike Babylon and Sparta and Judah and Nineveh, the household was at its core. It was a fortress that considered itself a home; it was a king that considered himself, first and foremost, a father. It held a plow in one hand and a sword in the other, and chose to use the plow first. It could burn down cities with its fiery breath, but used its power to light a candle. It was the first thing of its kind that the world had ever seen. And it spread.

And in the middle of its golden age, there came Carthage.

Tyre had been a city-state of merchants. It had no standing army, hiring mercenaries from the south when it needed to defend itself. It was famous for its dyes and paints, and sold tin to the world from a secret place. It was cruel to slaves and foreigners; it was kind to women and most children. There is no need for us to speak in its defense, though. It is dead, and fishermen spread their nets where the great city used to stand.

Carthage was born of Tyre. It split from its parent state and set up a new city, and named it New City. New City – Carthage – stood across the sea from Rome, and its people took Tyrian customs and made them their own.

Tyre, in its youth, had taken the gods of the Amorites. These gods were common to most peoples of that place and time. Baal Sur. Baal Saphon, who the Abrahamic religions knew simply as Baal. Baal Hammon and his consort the dark Ralat Tinnit. Moloch.

These gods were not household gods. These gods were the other kind: Saphon, the storm and thunder god; Tinnit, the lady of war and conquest; Hammon, who brought rain and could bless or curse lands with plenty or famine; Sur, the lord of the dead. And Moloch. Tyre had no kindly home gods. Their religion was not personal. Worship was to be performed in public, citywide gatherings of hundreds or more.

And their worship was sacrifice, and their sacrifice was the firstborn son. This was not their only sacrifice, of course. They offered up grains, and calves, and oil, and wine; but besides these things, the gods demanded children.

There may be much said now against Rome, especially in her later days. But for all her slavery, for all her gender discrimination, for all her militarism, she and her gods had a backbone of honor and morality, from the beginning until just before the end. Rome never sacrificed a child, because if a god had ever demanded it, or a priest suggested it, Rome would not have endured it, in the same way that Rome would not endure rape or corruption or misuse of power or the oppression of the weak or any of the other hundred crimes which the rest of the world accepted as custom. Until just before the end, Rome remained Rome; and Rome would not allow _evil_ , not even in her gods.

Carthage grew, and as it grew, it became increasingly clear that Rome and Carthage could not coexist. Carthage was everything that Rome was not. The difference in gods was not the reason for their hatred of each other, not really; but in a sense, the difference in gods reflected a fundamental difference in belief. A nation that held home and hearth most important could not bear to be allied with a nation that valued gold over children, not for long. A nation that worshiped the _lares_ could not stand side-by-side with a nation that worshiped Moloch. There were three wars between these two nations, and it was during this time that Hannibal led his armies over the Alps.

Hannibal's march, leading his men and elephants, has become a sort of thing of heroism. He is often depicted as a hero. We, the tellers of this tale, are of course biased, because our heroes are Roman and Greek, and our friends are the demigods of America. But we do not consider Hannibal a hero. We will say for him that he was a brilliant strategist, and that he believed in something even when Carthage behind him began to lose faith; but he strategized for Baal Hammon, and he believed in Moloch.

He marched, as most people know, over the Alps, leading a vast army, from Carthage, to Rome. They set out with the full support of the Carthaginian merchant lords, and the blessings of all the Baals. As time went on, the support of the merchant kings began to wane, as the campaign grew more and more expensive; but the blessings of the gods never left him. He believed so strongly in his cause, in the destruction of Rome, that the gods put their full support behind him. And the Romans felt it as he came.

He destroyed as he went, salting the fields that had not already been salted, burning the homes and crops that had not already been burned. For the Romans, as they fled, destroyed their own property that it might not fall into the hands of the Baals. And during his seemingly inexorable march towards the city of Rome, the gods behind him warred with the gods ahead, and it seemed for a time that Baal Hammon was stronger than Jupiter, and that Moloch would devour not only the children of Carthage but the children of all the world.

But the Romans fought. And the difference between their fight and the fight of Carthage is marked; they fought for their home, while Carthage fought for Moloch. Rome fought for her homes because her homes were her gods, but Carthage fought for nothing but the Baals. The gods of Carthage took and gave nothing. Rome's gods took the spirit of the home and gave it back tenfold.

And the Romans fought. They would strike and disappear, fighting guerilla-like before their very gates, as Hannibal pressed on. Back in Carthage, they considered the war already won; but in Rome, they believed that they could still win. Carthage sent less and less support to Hannibal. His brother was killed and his head thrown into the Carthaginian camp; his elephants were cut down beneath him, one by one. Until finally he lost, and the Baals fled back to Carthage with the million household _lares_ of the Romans snapping at their heels.

In name, Carthage lived on after that failed campaign. Their ships still sailed; their armies still fought in other parts of the world. They went on sacrificing their firstborns to Moloch. But we, the tellers of this tale, consider that failed campaign the true end of Carthage; and the razing of the New City only a formal 'The End' to a tale that really ended the moment Baal broke upon the hearth of Rome.

And when Carthage was razed, the Baals fell. They were forced underground, into a dreamless sleep, for when a god's civilization is destroyed, there is nothing left for the god. If the West ever truly fell, the Olympians would become as dead, silent and still, waiting for the light. Thus the Baals slept. Carthage was dead, and they with it.

(A sidenote: there was a political speaker named Cato, during the time of the last Punic wars. He would end any and all speeches he made, no matter the subject or context, with the words 'And besides all that, I believe that Carthage must be destroyed.' Delenda est Carthago.)

* * *

_O proud Death, what feast is toward in thine eternal cell that thou so many princes at a shot so bloodily hast struck?_

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this Hamlet line so, so much. Honestly, I don't know why. Probably mostly the structure of the sentence. I don't know if it's clear from my writing (/s), but I love weird-but-accurate sentence structure.
> 
> As always, of course, kudos and comments and subscribes and whatnot.
> 
> Survive!


	9. Chapter 9

It was late winter in Arizona. The team had left California the day before, and they had made barely acceptable time for the first few hours. Then the RV had broken down in the middle of nowhere, and the tinkerer had taken a look and declared that it was a miracle on the scale of a capital-G God that it hadn’t broken down a month ago, and that he couldn’t fix it if he had a week. They had flagged down a passing pickup truck coming the other way and Teach had gotten in, asking for a ride to the nearest town. He had come back five minutes later with the truck, saying he had bought it off the driver once they had gotten back into town and the man had been able to get his own ride.

‘But the last town was at least half an hour ago,’ Bianca protested.

‘He was a fast driver,’ Teach answered with one of his smiles that didn’t reach the eyes.

They piled into the truck and set off again, but Luke was watching the kid Nico, and he thought that Nico hadn’t liked Teach’s story at all.

* * *

The day after Teach had ‘bought’ the truck, it broke down just as they were passing a Shell station. Luke couldn’t have said what state they were in. Just that it was cold.

‘Great,’ the tinkerer said. ‘I can fix this one, though. I think.’

‘You do that,’ Luke said. ‘I don’t like this place, so make it quick.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Teach, which surprised Luke for some reason.

‘Right,’ Luke said. ‘I don’t like it and he doesn’t like it. It must be real bad. Ulf, suit up. Fantine, I want you on the roof of the Shell. Rogue – Greta, sorry – spiral out for a hundred yards then come back. DiAngelos, stay in the car. I'm getting us some food. Teach?’

‘Can I come?’ Nico asked.

‘Fine. Teach, stay here.’ Teach looked mutinous, but Luke shrugged. They wanted to keep the kid as happy as possible, and Teach knew it. ‘Sorry, bud. I’ll get you a Twinkie.’

He and Nico walked to the Shell as Fantine was sneaking around the back to climb the roof. They entered, and the bell rang over the door, just as the guy asleep behind the counter fell out of his chair.

‘Oh! What?’ he asked no one in particular, and scrambled to his feet, face red. He only looked about twenty-five.

Luke realized too late that he had no money. That wouldn’t have been a problem except he had Nico with him, who might not have been fine with armed robbery. He bent over and whispered in Nico’s ear. ‘Hey, kid,’ he said. ‘You're fine with a life of crime, right?’

‘What?’ Nico asked, also at a whisper.

‘I mean, if I point my gun at this guy, and tell him to give us free food, would you get upset?’

Nico considered for a moment. ‘As long as you don’t actually shoot him,’ he decided.

‘I'm starting to like you more and more,’ Luke said. ‘Alright.’ He straightened up. ‘Hey, Hannah,’ he said, reading the guy’s nametag. He slid the pistol out of his holster and Hannah’s mouth slackened. ‘The kid and I are going to take whatever we want right now, and if you try to stop us I’ll shoot you.’

‘You can’t…’ Hannah started to say, and Luke slid back the action with a dramatic click. Hannah cowered.

‘Can we have some bags?’ Luke asked. Hannah gingerly handed him a fistful of plastic bags from under the counter. As Luke turned to hand them to Nico, he saw Hannah frantically mashing the police alarm button. Luke leaned closer. ‘Having trouble?’ Hannah sobbed and sank back into his chair. ‘That probably won’t work while I'm around,’ Luke said. ‘I'm magic, see.’ He thought Hannah might actually have fainted at that point.

Luke turned back to Nico, who was standing in front of one of the racks of chips. ‘I've never seen any of these,’ Nico said. ‘What _is_ this place?’

Luke looked at the chips. ‘Cheetos? Fritos? Lays? Really?’

Nico suddenly frowned and stopped. ‘Yeah. No. I can… I can remember…’ He trailed off, face blank. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said, and there was fear in his voice. He looked at Luke. ‘I can’t _remember_.’

‘It’s okay, kid,’ Luke said. ‘You’ve had a weird couple of days. We’ll figure it out when we get where we’re going, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Nico said, but he was subdued, and he stayed quiet until he got outside and got to see Fantine take out three minor gorgons with her rifle.

‘Any trouble?’ Luke asked Teach at the truck.

‘Nothing major,’ Teach said, but he seemed on edge. ‘Paul says about half an hour, though. This isn’t good.’

‘What isn’t? You thought he was going to snap his fingers and fix everything? Didn’t he say the fan belt is gone? I don’t know what that means, but it doesn’t sound good.’

‘And the thermodrive is rusted and the quantum capacitors are burned out,’ Paul added from the front of the truck.

‘Are those real things?’ Luke asked, opening a can of Coke.

‘Very real. Very bad. We’re going to be here for days until I can get the hyperdrive running. Tell Teach to get off my back.’

Luke looked back at Teach, a smile on his face. But Teach wasn’t smiling. Not even his false smile that he tended to put on whenever Luke and Paul did an act. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘But this place is bad.’

Luke scanned the landscape.

It was dirt and dirty snow-slush, an almost-flat landscape as far as the eye could see. To the east, mountains on the horizon. To the north, something green he thought were trees. Around them, empty farmland furrowed like a rug pushed up against a wall, dotted with occasional thickets of trees and bushes. One brave section of land, a mile behind the gas station, growing what looked like tall grass.

Fantine was still on the roof. He could see the Rogue, picking her way over the snow.

‘We’re fine, Teach,’ he said. ‘Don’t say that kind of stuff. Bad for morale.’

‘This place is bad,’ Teach said. ‘Very bad.’ He turned a full 360, scanning the land as Luke had done. ‘The cashier, in there. Clean?’

‘A scared college kid whose parents named him Hannah. Nearly shit himself when I showed him my gun. The place was empty.’

‘Last name?’

‘I didn’t ask, sorry to disappoint. Also didn’t ask for date of birth and place of residence. Want me to go and get a birth certificate?’

‘A last name would be fine.’

‘Why?’

Teach smiled, now, and it was the false, thin smile. ‘I don’t trust people who say their name is Hannah.’

Luke sighed and turned to go back to the gas station. He was getting nervous too, now, and he wasn’t sure whether it was just Teach setting him on edge or whether there was actually anything to be afraid about. He was about to go inside when a shimmer of air appeared next to the door.

‘Paid call from New York,’ came the disembodied voice of an Iris message. ‘Will you accept?’

Luke stared for a moment. ‘How the hell did they find me?’

‘Will you accept?’

‘Sure. Yes. Put them through.’

The shimmering air resolved into Annabeth’s face, tight with worry. She was in one of the rooms of the Big House, he noticed abstractedly.

‘Hey,’ Luke said casually. ‘How’s it going?’

She stared at him, mouth open, for a moment. ‘You're kidding me,’ she said. ‘You're joking, I hope.’

‘What?’

She screamed, face pointed at the ceiling, a wordless roar of frustration. ‘How’s it _going_? You're gone, in the middle of... Colorado, apparently, I don’t know what happened, I've been worried for days. That’s _one_. Two, Olympus is closed so _no one_ knows what's happening anywhere…’

‘Olympus is closed?’ Luke asked, but she ignored him.

‘Three, I'm going on a quest and you're…’ She stopped. ‘...I'm going on a quest.’

‘Good for you!’ Luke said, with false cheer in his voice.

‘Shut up, Luke. This is wrong, whatever you're doing. You left me. You promised me you wouldn’t do that.’

He couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘I threw a knife at a wall map,’ she said. ‘And sent an Iris message to where it hit. That’s the only way I found you; blind luck. Please come back.’

‘I'm almost done,’ Luke managed. ‘I won’t be much longer. Really.’ _I’ll see you after Olympus burns,_ he thought almost hysterically. For the first time the thought came to him that if there was a war, Annabeth might fight for Olympus.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked desperately. ‘Please…’

‘I had to find someone. I found them. I'm taking them somewhere. Okay?’ He paused. ‘What’s your quest?’

‘Finding something. Taking it somewhere.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I'm going to look for the golden fleece.’

‘ _What_?’

‘The golden fleece. The fleece Jason retrieved for… well, the legends give different reasons for why he did it. It can bring healing and protection.’

‘Why?’ he asked, forehead furrowed.

‘There's been… a lot of attacks. Since Olympus closed, the monsters have gotten more aggressive.’

‘I've noticed.’

‘The barrier around camp is weakening. Not too much. Not yet. But a giant broke through the other day. It burned him badly – he died before he could cause any trouble – but the fact that they can get through at all has Chiron panicking. If they start to _smell_ us through the barrier…’ She trailed off.

Luke could imagine it. The barrier served three purposes: to keep mortals away and confused, to keep monsters out, and to mask the concentrated scent of over a hundred demigods packed into a square mile. If it was weakening, monsters would start to be drawn to camp. It wouldn’t be pretty. Even if they couldn’t get through, the halfbloods would be trapped inside. A state of siege.

‘So I'm getting the fleece to try and repair the barrier.’

‘It’s dangerous, Anna.’

She flared back up. ‘Really? _You're_ telling _me_ it’s dangerous? You don’t get to say things like that anymore, after leaving camp in the middle of the night without telling anyone.’

 _Some damn fool idealistic crusade._ ‘I'm sorry.’

‘You should be.’

‘I miss you. Be safe. Don’t… don’t die.’

She smiled, a strange, twisted sort of smile that reminded him disturbingly of Teach. ‘I'm one of the folks who’s fine with death. Remember?’ She waved her hand through the message, and it disappeared into thin air.

At that moment, the gas station door opened. Hannah stepped out.

‘Hey, buddy,’ Luke said. ‘My friend down there wants to know your last name.’

‘My last name? Ball,’ said Hannah, and he didn’t sound nervous at all anymore.

* * *

_Official Olympian transcript of Day Eight of discussion between the Olympian Council regarding present state of urgency._

_Transcript begins at 0823. Names will be abbreviated for convenience._

_Zeus_ : What about the small governances in the south.

 _Athena:_ The Aztec pantheon?

 _Z.:_ Yes, if you want to use the mortal names. I'm on a first name basis…

 _Apollo:_ …Oh, for crying out loud…

 _Z.:_ …with a lot of those gods.

 _Dionysus:_ Good for you.

 _Z.:_ They're not like us.

 _Ap._ : Are you sure? How on earth could you have told? Was it the feathers?

 _At.:_ Enough of that. Father?

 _Z.:_ If we decentralize government as _some_ of us seem to want to do, those… folks down south will be given part-time authority over their, you know, fields of expertise. Now, I have nothing against, ah, foreign gods…

 _Ap.:_ …Whenever you hear a phrase like that…

 _Z.:_ …but do we really want to give control of the weather to some bird god every eight days? Who used to like drinking mortal blood and whose name looks like…

 _Hera:_ Watch yourself, husband.

 _Z.:_ Oh, all right. I didn’t mean anything. But you know what I'm saying.

 _Ap.:_ If you didn’t mean anything, how can we know what you're saying? Nothing at all? …Okay, okay!

 _Z.:_ If you have something wise to say, son, by all means contribute to this discussion.

 _Ap.:_ It just seems like you're making a bigger deal out of this decentralization idea than it needs to be.

 _Z.:_ I'm not the one who brought it up.

 _Ap.:_ All right, then. Uncle? Doesn’t it seem like we should be focusing on our present problems than creating more?

 _Z.:_ That’s what I've been saying.

 _Poseidon:_ It is the current form of government that brought us the problems we’re facing. If we ignore that fact, then we’re just shoving it under the rug.

 _Z.:_ So you want to split the ocean with a bunch of Tongan deities who probably can’t even speak our language and who’ve never been anywhere but their little island. You want _me_ to share the sky with that bloodthirsty Scandinavian.

 _P.:_ If you had bothered to actually _listen_ to my proposal…

 _Her.:_ ( _simultaneously_ ) Husband, take care.

 _P.:_ …you would know that that has nothing whatsoever to do with what I'm suggesting. Also, before I go on…

 _Ares:_ Bloody hell.

 _P.:_ …I want to point out that my brother has been using the word ‘decentralization’ which I think sort of paints my real proposal in a poor light. I'm not saying that we give up our areas of power, or that we create a rota of gods clocking in and out. I’m suggesting that we get rid of supremacy and dictatorial decision-making, where only one god makes decisions for everyone under him.

 _Ar._ : You said that yesterday. And the day before. And I think it’s a dumb idea.

 _P.:_ Why, exactly?

 _Ar.:_ It’s too specific. We all know why you're proposing this, don’t we?

( _Various chorus of dissent and assent._ )

 _P.:_ Do enlighten me.

 _Ar.:_ Don’t get mad… You're pissed at Zeus for trying to stop you from wiping out that prick Boreas, and you're even more pissed that he's making a thing out of it. We all get that. But…

 _Z.:_ I will remind you that you are my son.

 _Ar.:_ …but all your proposal really does is take power away from my dear Father. It doesn’t help anything, and it lets in a whole bunch of problems. As a matter of fact, how _would_ you extend ‘decision making power’, as you put it, to those Tongans Pop was talking about? You want me to share war with Kali? Hell no.

 _P.:_ In my full proposal I note that the very local gods, such as the gods of Tonga or Glooscap in the Midwest, would be given jurisdiction only over their localities…

 _Ar.:_ God damn, that’s cold blooded.

 _At.:_ For once I find myself agreeing with Ares.

 _Ap.:_ You want to keep _Glooscap_ in the _Midwest_? Have you met that guy? He could whip my ass.

 _P.:_ I had planned to submit it to you all for approval first, obviously. That’s the main idea of decentral– well, whatever we’d call it.

 _At.:_ Anti-Federalism, I think. James Madison would have been proud.

 _Z.:_ What about Hades? How do you think he’ll respond if you ask him to double-check with… is it Anubis?... before making a decision?

 _Ar.:_ And what about Kali? That bitch _scares_ me, I’ll admit it.

 _P.:_ All this is the very _reason_ I brought the proposal to the council.

 _Ap.:_ Wait, you mean the reason for this lockdown is just so we can talk about your idea for a divine UN? I could be outside right now if this thing was decided? Hell, I’ll sign right _now_ as long as I don’t have to let the dung beetle drive my car.

 _At.:_ Your disinterest disturbs me…

 _Her.:_ ( _simultaneously_ ) That is not the reason for the lockdown. All this discussion about decentralization… I will continue to call it so until you think of a name, brother, don’t look at me like that… is a side effect of the real problem.

 _Ar.:_ Which fucking _is_?

 _Her.:_ That discipline must be maintained. And there is much lack of discipline in the world at the moment, both within and without Olympus. There are whispers…

 _Ap.:_ …Oh, hell…

 _Her.:_ …of a growing power, neither Greek nor Roman. There are reports of werewolves in Canada. The California camp has been attacked by shadowy warriors. The borders of the New York camp are failing. There is… something _new_ , in New Hampshire. There is much disturbance.

 _D.:_ How do you know all that?

 _Her.:_ I have been watching.

 _Ap.:_ Was she allowed to do that?

( _The door opens. The council falls silent._ )

 _Z.:_ Why are you here?

 _P.:_ ( _simultaneously_ ) Welcome, brother.

 _Hades:_ I bring… some bad news.

* * *

_Words, words, words_.

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a writer, I notice that I have a hard time presenting the setting of a scene. Like, I either over-describe it to hell, or I give a half-assed description that doesn't help anyone. Exhibit A being this chapter right here. I mean, it doesn't matter that much, but I still would have liked the setting to be more... set...
> 
> (Also: we're halfway there! Livin on a prayer for sure.)
> 
> Anyway, commentkudosubscribe and so on. Survive!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird chapter.

It was a little town in New Hampshire. Hartford, it was called. It was on an island in the middle of a lake, connected by a bridge to the mainland. It was a hunting-and-fishing town, and they were hunting-and-fishing people. Most of them wore plaid, or vests, or both.

The Firstborn rolled into town on the ninth day after Olympus closed. This, if you have been following the train of events closely, was the day that Luke and his team first met the boy named Mark (now regrettably deceased). They were in a beaten-down white van with no side windows, the kind of van that makes mothers call their children inside if it circles the block. It pulled to a stop in front of the general store. Adam, the leader, got out.

‘In the old days, this sort of place would have been its own independent city-state,’ he called out to anyone who was listening. ‘It’s on a body of water. It’s naturally defensible. The soil is good. The air is clean. Damn, this would be a wonderful place to start an empire.’ As he went on talking, a little crowd began to gather to stare. ‘And, as a matter of fact, it will be. I hereby declare this town of Hartford to be under the jurisdiction of the New Empire.’

Someone laughed. He shot that person in the head. That got more attention. People screamed, and some of them ran, and others pulled out pistols and started shooting. The other Firstborn piled out of the car and started shooting back. Adam howled with laughter and hopped over the hood of the car to take cover. ‘That was an amazing opening,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘A little chaos, a little violence. Damn.’

They barricaded themselves into the store for the night.

By the next day, the town was in shambles. The Hartford police had been killed. A lot of buildings had been set on fire. Every boat had been destroyed, and the Firstborn had blocked off the bridge. Police from outside had been called but were hesitant to come too close to the city, since the Firstborn had threatened to kill ten Hartford citizens for every cop that they could see.

Finally, a call made its way to Adam. The chief of police from the nearest town, on a cellphone that a trembling Hartford woman handed over.

‘Yes?’ Adam asked.

‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ the chief asked. His name was Rodrigues.

‘My name is Adam,’ said Adam. ‘I'm the son of Moloch. And I want to start an empire.’

‘Well, you’re in the wrong country, buddy,’ Rodrigues answered. He either didn’t hear or didn’t care about the Moloch bit. ‘You're surrounded. I’ve got fifty officers watching every road out of there, and two hundred more on their way. We’ve alerted the national guard. You’re a terrorist, and the United States policy for dealing with terrorists is loud and quick.’

‘I'm _not_ a terrorist,’ Adam said. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is that I have a lot of weapons, and a lot of food, and a lot of hostages. And a bunch of people who are as crazy as I am. And we want to start an empire.’

‘What the hell does that even mean, start an empire? What do you want us to do, give you a crown or something?’

‘That would be nice, but no. I want secession.’

‘Secession? Fucking hell, you are insane. You think…’ Rodrigues started laughing, which was probably not good RCPD policy, but he couldn’t help it. ‘You and a handful of nuts march into a little nowhere town in New Hampshire, take some hostages, and want to start a fucking country?’

Adam considered it. ‘Um… yeah. That’s exactly right. And I'm going to tell you what I want you to do, so listen carefully. If you screw up, I’ll kill some people. I’ve got plenty to spare. I want you to get a message all the way up to the President and Congress. You know, like a chain letter. You send it to your supervisor, who sends it to his congressman, and so on up to the desk of the Oval Office.’

Rodrigues started to laugh again. Adam fired his pistol. Rodrigues stopped laughing. ‘That was a woman named Wendy Laurels,’ Adam said mildly. ‘Still think it’s funny?’

‘You son of a bitch,’ Rodrigues hissed.

‘Yeah. Okay, listen. The message will be that I want full secession from the United States. A completely separate city-state, sovereign in and of itself. The day that this happens, I will release to you any former citizens of Hartford who wish to leave. Until that happens, I will kill ten people daily. If I run out of people, I suppose I’ll have to think of something, but I don’t think you want things to get to that point, do you?’

‘You know they won’t do it,’ Rodrigues breathed.

‘Then a lot of people are going to end up in the lake.’

‘You sick _bastard_.’

‘Yeah. Oh… and the name?’

‘What?’

‘The name of our sovereign nation. I think _Carthage_ would be a lovely choice, don’t you?’ He laughed. ‘Get it to the big man in the big office, Rodrigues. I'm counting on you, buddy. Bye-bye!’ He hung up.

* * *

Rodrigues moved quickly and talked to the right people. The demands got to the Oval Office a lot quicker than anyone, even Adam, could have guessed; less than eleven hours after the phone call, the President was reading a letter from the New Hampshire governor. He called a meeting, and from that meeting other people called other meetings, and eventually a decision was reached. It seemed a simple solution, anyway.

‘Agree to the demands. Once the hostages are clear, bomb them to hell. Those are your orders. Go.’

And they went, and Carthage was made a sovereign nation in less than a day.

Somewhere deep underground, an ancient power stirred.

* * *

The Firstborn watched as the hostages crossed the bridge connecting Hartford to the mainland. Once the last of them had crossed over, Van turned to Adam.

‘What now?’

‘Now, I assume, they're going to bomb us,’ Adam said. He looked up at the sky. ‘In less than ten minutes, I’d imagine.’

‘And what are we supposed to do about it?’

‘Us? Nothing. There's nothing we can do. But hopefully someone else can. I mean, that’s why we’re doing all this, anyway, isn’t it? To wake her up.’

‘Oh, gods,’ Caros said, and sank to his knees reverently. ‘The holy consort.’

‘And not just her,’ Adam said, with a smile that promised nothing but unpleasantness. ‘All of them. The great Baals of Carthage. That’s what I hope we’ve done. That’s what we came to do. If not…’ He spread his arms, and in the distance they heard the sound of fighter jets approaching. ‘Then let us die a glorious death in the name of the New City!’

They could see the fighters, now, in the far distance, black and sleek and shining in the afternoon sun.

* * *

‘Target in view,’ Kyle Hook said. ‘In point three. Taking the shot in five.’

‘Copy.’

He waited… waited… and then…

We, the tellers of this tale, do not much like to engage in speculation as to what could have been. We do not enjoy ‘what if’s. But we must wonder, at this moment, what would have changed had Kyle Hook fired just three seconds earlier? Would the missiles have reached their target? Would the Firstborn have been destroyed, and the Lady Tinnit forced back to sleep?

And, if the Firstborn had been destroyed, how would the rest of this tale been different? We imagine that many good people would not have died. Perhaps, even… But it would not do to get ahead of ourselves.

In any case, Kyle Hook never fired his missiles, because the second before his finger touched the control the Lady Tinnit rose from the ground and tore through his jet like a bullet through a piece of paper.

‘What the _fuck_ …’ the pilot of the other jet managed, before his jet spun into the fireball that was Hook, and he too passed out of this life and into, we hope, Elysium.

* * *

On the ground, Adam and the other Firstborn roared in fierce approval as the two planes were destroyed. They had seen the Lady Tinnit only as a dark, shapeless form, exploding from the ground at impossible speeds.

‘It’s her,’ Adam managed to say, the heat of the explosion searing his face even as he said it. The light was blinding, but none of them dared to blink.

As the explosion died, Tinnit descended to the ground before them, taking her anthropomorphic form with difficulty after two thousand years without practice. ‘My children,’ she said. She wore a veil.

‘My lady Tinnit,’ Adam said, and fell to his knees. The rest of the Firstborn followed suit.

‘Rise,’ she said, beatifically. ‘You are blessed beyond all measure… You, the first of the new Carthage, are the favored of the Baals.’

‘It is our honor… our duty…’ Caros mumbled, his face pressed into the dirt.

‘Go, now,’ she said. ‘And prepare for the battles to come. I and my kindred have much to do.’

None of them dared answer, and she disappeared like mist.

They remained like that for a moment, kneeling, prostrate, in awe. Finally Adam spoke.

‘Well, damn,’ he said. And there seemed to be nothing more that needed saying.

* * *

The new Carthage endured. There were more jets, of course. Six more in total, carrying meaner and meaner missiles, and getting faster and faster. But each time they approached, they were knocked out of the sky by one of the Baals. Finally the US Air Force gave up, and the high-ups met urgently to discuss.

We, the tellers of this tale, did not see the talk that went on here. We had too much else to look at to waste time listening to the mortals. Frankly, they are boring. But finally, they returned to the basics of war which have carried the human race through conflict since the first caveman hit the second caveman over the head with a club, for a banana. They sent infantry.

But of course Carthage, and the Baals, were a match for anything the US military could throw at it. It went on _being_.

By the time Luke got his call from Annabeth, and Hades arrived at Olympus, Carthage had grown. Criminals. Convicts. Psychopaths who would have been serial killers if they hadn’t been cowards. The scum of the earth – at least, the portion of the scum that could lug it to New Hampshire. They were all welcomed and introduced to the Baals. The ones who didn’t lose their minds were given guns.

‘We’ll have to send out a call,’ Adam – last son of Moloch – said one day. ‘All the Firstborn who aren’t here. We need to gather. It’s near time.’

And they went on. We will return to them shortly.

* * *

Luke stared at Hannah Ball. ‘You seem different,’ he said. ‘Drink a Monster or two?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Something like that, huh. Well, I'm going to need you to go back inside. We won’t be out here long.’

Suddenly Hannah was holding a gun. ‘You’re right,’ he said. There was a gunshot. Luke closed his eyes and dropped to the ground. But he wasn’t dead, and after a moment he opened his eyes gingerly. Hannah was dead, a bullet through his temple. Fantine waved from the roof.

‘I'm going to be honest and say I forgot you were there,’ Luke called.

‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I fell asleep until gas station here opened the door and the bell jingled.’

‘Well, thank heaven for irritating door bells,’ Luke muttered. He bent over Hannah’s body and checked pockets. Nothing. He jogged back to the truck, where Teach was waiting, arms crossed.

‘Well, that was something,’ Teach said as Luke got close. ‘I was right, wasn’t I? What was his name?’

‘Ball.’

Teach’s face tightened. ‘Right.’

‘You knew?’

‘I guessed. A guy named Hannah. This nasty feeling. I want to get out of here.’

‘We’ll be moving in… five minutes,’ Paul said from the hood of the car. ‘I just have to reconnect everything.’

‘Great,’ Luke said.

A car – a bus, actually – appeared on the horizon. It sped toward them at speeds which, even from the distance, did not look less than three digits.

‘They’ll be here before we’re gone,’ Luke muttered. ‘Hide the body!’ he called to Fantine, who swung down from the roof, clipped the body to her belt, and swung back up. ‘That works.’

‘That’s a whole damn bus,’ Teach said. ‘We can’t fight that many.’

‘What?’ Luke asked, blankly. ‘They're not… hostile, Teach. It’s just a bus. I just didn’t want them to see the body in case they stop.’

‘There aren’t any coincidences,’ Teach said. ‘Not in this job. Not with this feeling in the air.’

‘He’s right,’ Ulf rumbled.

‘We could have you stand in the road and let the truck hit you. That would do the trick,’ Luke suggested. ‘Bianca. Nico. I think you guys should get out of here. Hide over in those trees, in case this goes bad.’

They stumbled out of the truck. ‘You're going to fight the bus?’ Nico asked, wide-eyed.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. But Teach here is extra suspicious today, and so far he’s been one for one. We don’t need to take any chances.’

Bianca tugged at Nico’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

‘I want to fight,’ Nico insisted.

‘Not happening, buddy,’ Luke said. ‘Sorry. We’ll train you soon enough, and then you can go kill dragons and whatnot. Right now it’s too dangerous.’

Nico looked like he was about to be belligerent. Luke pulled his pistol out of the holster, flipped it so he was holding the barrel, and offered it to Nico. Bianca shrieked, but Nico took it like it was made of gold. ‘If things go bad,’ Luke said, ‘flick _this_ off – that’s the safety – point it towards the bad guys, and pull the trigger. A lot of times.’

‘You can’t give him that!’ Bianca protested.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Luke said. ‘Ulf, can you give her one too?’

Ulf tugged a similar handgun from his hip holster and offered it to Bianca, who shrank away. ‘No! I don’t want one!’

‘Then what's the problem?’ Luke asked, who knew exactly what the problem was and was trying not to laugh.

‘You can’t give a _gun_ to a twelve year old kid!’

‘I just did. And listen, he's not just a twelve year old kid anymore. And you're not just… however old you are. You're both demigods, even if we don’t know your parent, and you're tougher, stronger, and generally better at everything than normal people are. He’ll be fine.’

She opened her mouth again.

‘And before you say anything more, let me point out that that bus is less than a minute away. The gun is for if things go bad. The longer you stay here arguing, the more likely it is that things _will_ go bad.’

She hesitated, trying to find something to say, and finally let out a wordless grumble and led Nico at a half-run towards the thicket of trees. Luke turned back to watch the bus approach.

‘You guys ready?’ he asked. Ulf grunted assent, but Teach still looked uneasy. ‘Where’s Greta?’ he asked.

‘Probably already on the bus killing people. I don’t know. Why?’

He didn’t answer. Luke shrugged.

The bus approached. It was white, with no names or markings of any kind. The windows were heavily tinted; even the windshield was so reflective that he couldn’t see the driver, which he assumed was illegal.

‘Lock and load, gentlemen,’ he said, feeling kind of badass and kind of out of his depth.

The bus pulled to a stop fifty feet away from them. The door opened. Four people in heavy combat gear hurried out and took up positions around the door.

‘Where’s the costume party,’ Paul muttered, his hands still flying across the engine.

A fifth person stepped down from the bus. He had long, blond hair, and for a moment Luke thought that he looked eerily similar to himself. Then he took another look and decided, no, this guy was more like a marine he had met once in NYC. He was tall – probably at least two inches taller than Luke, who considered himself 6’1 without shoes. He was also wide, so that the purple t-shirt he wore stretched across his chest and shoulders and tapered just a bit at his waist.

‘He must be flexing,’ Luke whispered. Ulf snorted.

‘Demigods of Greece!’ the blond guy called, in a shout that sounded exactly how Luke imagined a real-life drill sergeant would sound. ‘By the power given to me by the gods and by the republic, you are hereby prisoners of Rome! Lay down your weapons now and you will be treated gently.’

‘Notice he didn’t actually say unharmed,’ Paul pointed out.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Luke called.

‘My name is Jason Grace, consul of Rome and commander of the Fifth Legion. Lay down your weapons.’

But as soon as Grace said his name, Teach was running. Luke thought for a confused moment that he was charging, but he blinked and Teach was taking off across the slushy earth in the opposite direction.

‘Shoot him,’ Grace said. ‘The rest of you have three seconds to drop your weapons and place your hands on your heads!’

Luke, Ulf, and Paul did so as eight – no, _twelve_ – Romans with full tactical gear and rifles piled out of the truck. Actually, there were more, but Luke lost count. They just kept coming.

They were firing at Teach. He zigged and zagged across the field, and Luke found himself strangely irritated at him. Finally, inevitable, he crumpled to the ground. Luke half-rose, but one of the soldiers held him down. ‘You killed him, you bastard,’ Luke shouted.

‘I don’t think so,’ Grace said, staring critically at Teach in a heap on the ground. Two soldiers were running towards him. ‘We were shooting low.’

‘Fuck you,’ Luke said.

‘Rude. Why not introduce yourselves, instead?’

‘Why?’

‘We prefer to know the names of the people we imprison. To be honest, we’re not even here for you.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really. Finding you here was a lucky coincidence…’

‘There are no coincidences in this job,’ Paul murmured.

‘…but we’re really here for _them_.’ He pointed toward the gas station.

Luke stared for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Oh, gods,’ he managed to say. ‘I'm so sorry. You came all the way from California for him? Oh, no. I'm sorry, I really am.’

Grace raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘We killed him,’ Luke said simply.

Grace sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘Just one.’

‘The only one, I'm pretty sure.’

‘We think there are four, at least. The rest are probably… hidden. They’ve had this spot for a while. Long enough to find some little spots to hide. Trapdoors.’ He looked back toward the two soldiers dragging Teach toward them. Teach was still struggling, blood seeping from a bullet wound in his leg.

‘Four of you,’ Grace said. ‘There are two more, I believe. Your sniper? I assume she’s on the roof. And the… easily forgotten one.’ He inspected Teach. ‘That will be treated. If you stop resisting, this will be a lot easier for you.’

‘Do you… don’t you know who I am?’ Teach asked breathlessly, desperately.

Grace frowned. ‘A Greek demigod traveling with this group. One of the six who decimated our squad in LA. Is there anything else I should know? Your name, for instance?’

‘William Teach,’ Teach said, real fear in his voice. Luke raised an eyebrow. Somehow, he hadn’t expected William.

‘I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you,’ Grace said. ‘But it’s not really. And the rest of you?’

Luke noticed Teach sagged with relief when it was clear Grace had no idea who he was. The rest of them introduced themselves. After a few moments, Greta and Fantine joined them, hands on their heads.

‘Teach,’ he whispered when Grace moved off to prepare to search the gas station. ‘Do you know this guy?’

Teach stared. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I tried to kill him, once. A long time ago.’

* * *

_How much I had to do to calm his rage! Now fear I this will give it start again._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I want you to do. Do it. 
> 
> Survive!


	11. Chapter 11

His name was Jack Hamill. He had killed two children one day while they were playing in their yard; since then he had gained a taste for murder, and had killed eleven more. The FBI had his fingerprints, but he had never been captured. He had lived in the Vancouver woods on berries and squirrels, until the day Carthage was made a sovereign nation, a theocracy led by a man named Adam and ruled by Moloch.

Hamill made his way to New Hampshire and asked to join Carthage. He was shown the face of the Lady Tinnit – _dark/teeth/wet/blood/hot/dream, almost_ – and when his eyes opened again he was a soldier of Carthage.

* * *

His name was Mark Ledger. He liked fire. He had set things on fire; banks, gas stations, schools. He had once rigged a minivan full of gasoline to drive into a Las Vegas hotel. He was wanted in twelve states. When he read an article about the new, mad ‘Carthage’ thing, he was interested; especially after reading about the jets exploding.

He traveled to New Hampshire. He was trailing smoke from his smoldering backpack, and the two guards at the gate told him to wait right where he was. Adam came out to meet him, and after a little conversation, he introduced Ledger to Tinnit – _old/dust/dead/heat/angry/claw, almost_ – and handed him a blowtorch.

* * *

Her name was Heath Nicholson. She was a cannibal. She didn’t call herself such, but that was part of the police reports on her. She had cut the throats of three people in her college dorm room, drank their blood, and then carved steaks from their thighs. That was why she was on the run.

She crossed the US, from Nevada, to New Hampshire, when she heard the news of the two bombers being destroyed. She hitched rides whenever she could get them; the drivers tended not to survive the experience. Finally she stood at the bridge of Carthage and called out for Satan or whoever it was, to enter her. Instead of Satan, it was Tinnit who took hold of Nicholson’s mind – _perfect_ – and when she came to, Adam was standing over her with a smile on his face and a knife in hand, handle out. She took it, and became a soldier of Carthage.

* * *

Carthage grew.

* * *

‘You tried to _kill_ him?’ Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘First of all, you _failed_? No magics?’

‘Circumstances weren’t right,’ Teach said. ‘Unlike… now.’ He flared his hands, and got ready to point.

‘Hold on a second,’ Luke hissed. ‘They have guns. Can you kill them all at once?’

The faint blue flickering around Teach’s hands faded as he considered the situation. ‘I guess not.’

‘They're going to try and take the… gas station. They act like it’s a fortress. We’ll wait for a better chance.’

Grace and a group of eight hurried to the gas station. Luke watched as they took up positions, and Grace went inside. There were still at least twelve Romans watching them.

‘Aren’t you going to back up your buddies?’ Luke asked weakly. No one answered.

An explosion. Everyone’s heads, as if connected, swiveled to look. The gas station windows had been blown away, and the inside was starting to burn. Grace was on his back, shattered glass scattered around him, just outside the door. One of the eight soldiers was down. The others were firing in through the broken windows.

‘What about now?’ Luke suggested. Four more Romans took off towards Grace, who was beginning to stagger to his feet. ‘What happened?’ Luke muttered.

‘You probably don’t want to know too much,’ Teach said. ‘Right. Can I do my job?’

‘There's eight. If you screw up we’re all going to die. How many can you get, at most?’

‘…Six.’

‘Then my answer is a hard no.’

They watched as the Romans around the station emptied their rifles into the building, apparently without hitting whatever it was they were shooting at. _Or maybe they are hitting it, but it’s not dying,_ Luke thought for an uncomfortable moment before deciding against thinking like that.

A new rattle of gunfire as whoever was inside the gas station returned fire.

‘They're going to hit one of the pumps,’ Fantine said.

‘That would be unpleasant,’ Luke answered. ‘For them.’

Two of the Romans dropped.

‘I think they need backup,’ Luke suggested pleasantly. ‘You guys want to go help? All of you?’

The Romans still around them looked at each other, but didn’t move.

Another one dropped, over by the station. Grace finally seemed to have cleared his head, and charged back into the building, followed by three of his soldiers. Luke found himself sort of admiring the guy, against his will. ‘He’s brave, I’ll give him that,’ he said. Teach snorted.

A radio squawked on the shoulder of one of the Romans by the bus. It was an unintelligible burst of Latin. The owner of the radio answered, and took off toward the station, followed by two more.

‘Showtime,’ Teach said, and flared out again. The blue streaked through the air and took the five remaining soldiers in the throats. They died soundlessly.

‘Fantine, cover us. Greta, go get the diAngelos. Paul? Can you drive a bus?’

Paul looked at the bus. ‘I sure would like to.’ Greta took off running toward the thicket of trees hiding the diAngelos, and Fantine pulled a rifle off of one of the dead Romans.

Luke kept an eye on the gas station. Things were not looking good for the Roman side; two more were dead, and Grace hadn’t come out. The gunfire was continuous. They were all watching the firefight, which is why they didn’t notice Greta, Nico, and Bianca approaching at gunpoint, forced along by a man holding Nico’s gun.

‘Luke,’ Nico said. Luke spun.

‘What do you want?’ he asked the man immediately.

‘To hold you here until my friends over there are done with yours,’ said the man. ‘And, lady, if you point that thing at me I’ll shoot the little guy.’

Teach cleared his throat. Luke shot him a look, but Teach ignored him. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Can I talk to you? Just for a second?’

‘No.’

‘B’imm, f’ah,’ Teach hissed. Luke blinked. So did the man. He lowered the gun.

‘Stand between me and your friends,’ he said. ‘Come forward.’

Teach walked until he was covering the man from any angle. ‘Fantine,’ Luke murmured. ‘Can you take the shot?’

‘No.’

Luke sighed.

Teach and the man talked quickly and quietly. Finally the man gestured Teach away, and Teach came back. ‘Get on the bus.’

‘He's letting us go?’ Luke asked, disbelieving.

‘Do you want to stay and argue with him? Come on.’

They piled into the bus, Luke watching the man suspiciously, but the man did nothing but stare back. Finally Paul got them into gear and the bus moved away.

Luke watched the gas station out the window. Grace hadn’t come out, and there were only two Romans left. As he watched, one of them was shot, and the other one drew a sword and charged screaming into the building. He shrugged and turned away.

* * *

During their time in the bus, they didn’t talk much. The bus was long enough for them to spread out, and most of the team tried to sleep. Bianca seemed to be more stressed than before, and Luke decided to leave her alone for a little while. Being held hostage by a man with a gun, even for a few minutes, will have that kind of effect on someone. But he also knew that if she wanted to stay alive in this job for long, she would unfortunately have to get used to it.

Nico was the only one who had any energy. He paced up and down the middle aisle of the bus, until Teach finally grumbled something unpleasant, and Nico went over to sit by Luke.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘A safe place. Safer. Where we can rest for a little while.’

‘And after that?’

Luke took a while to answer. His eyes were closed and he was stretched out over three seats, his head on top of one of the backpacks. His pistol was back in its holster, and he was fiddling with the safety as he tried to get to sleep. ‘After that we’ll see.’

‘What does that even mean?’ Nico asked skeptically. ‘What did you recruit us for?’

‘Look, there’s a lot of stuff happening right now, and I'm not sure how much of it I should tell you…’

‘Right _now_?’ Nico looked pointedly out of the window; they were driving through what looked like the part of America that God forgot. It wasn’t even cultivated farmland; just tall, unkept grass, on both sides of a two-lane road that couldn’t have been paved later than 1970. ‘There's not a whole lot happening right _now_.’

Luke sucked in a long breath and then let it out loudly. ‘Oh, for Pan’s sake. Alright.’ He struggled into a more comfortable sitting position. ‘There's a lot of… backstory, I guess you'd call it. Pay attention.

‘You know that the gods are real. They have kids with mortals. A lot of kids. These kids are called demigods.

‘There are twelve main gods, called the Olympians. They're the ones you would have heard of in the stories. Zeus, Athena, Hades, Hermes, so on. Their kids are given special treatment at camp, because they're the most important. Then there are a ton of minor gods, who aren’t so well known. Iris. Tyche. Hypnos. Whenever children of _those_ gods show up to camp, they're lumped into the Hermes cabin.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s just how it is. Hermes is the patron god of travelers, so I guess his cabin sort of takes care of the kids who have no home. Anyway.’ He paused. This was what he had hesitated to tell the diAngelos so far. He wasn’t sure how they’d take it.

‘The gods aren’t the good guys,’ he said finally. Nico frowned. ‘They… don’t take care of things the way they should. They leave the messy work up to the demigods, and sit in Olympus doing nothing. They leave their kids on their own… Look at you and your sister. Your godly parent just left you, didn’t they? And you're not the only ones. Whenever they have children, they leave them with the mortal parent and let them fend for themselves. I had a friend…’ He paused again, wondering if he wanted to share this much.

‘I had a friend who was the daughter of Zeus. A while ago, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades made a deal that they wouldn’t have any more kids. But Zeus cheated on the deal, and had a daughter. My friend. Her name was Thalia. We made it to the camp, but because she… wasn’t supposed to exist, the gods turned her into a tree when she made it inside. She was sixteen.’

‘Why?’ Nico asked, sort of rhetorically.

‘Like I said. She wasn’t supposed to exist. It was Zeus’ fault, but they took it out on her.’ _And not on Jackson,_ he thought. But he didn’t say that part out loud.

Nico was silent for a few minutes. When he did speak, his voice was soft. ‘I'm sorry.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So… we’re fighting the gods. That’s what you're getting this team together for.’

Luke laid back, eyes closed. ‘Yup.’

‘How are you going to fight them? They're _gods_.’

‘Don’t think of them as gods. They're just people with a lot of power. They can be killed.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I sure hope so, kid. This is going to be a real short war, one way or the other.’

Nico, surprisingly, laughed.

 _This is one kid who’s definitely fine with death,_ Luke thought, and was surprised to find that he felt hopeful about the future, for the first time since he had given himself over to Chronos.

* * *

They stopped to rest in a motel that night. Luke didn’t sleep inside, choosing to lie in the gravel under the bus.

Before he went to sleep, he stood in the middle of the motel parking lot.

‘Hey, Thals,’ he said. ‘I wish you were here. You'd love this kid. Today he asked me when I was going to give him a sword. I told him I wasn’t sure, and he said it better be soon or he’d steal one.

‘The girl’s okay. Just sort of freaked out. She’s too old. She should have been found years ago. I don’t understand how she hasn’t been swarmed by monsters yet, she’s powerful as anyone I've seen.

‘I'm worried about Teach. Since the whole thing back at the gas station – he talked in this weird language to the guy with the gun, and they let us go – he’s been on edge. He’s like a rusty grenade. I want to keep him around, he’s useful, but he might go off sometime when I'm not ready. If he does I hope it’s during one of his goddamn ‘poor circumstances’.

‘Anna’s really mad at me. And she’s going on a quest. Remember when we used to say we’d go on our first quest together? Gods. Although, I guess in a way we did. That whole year was a quest. And we succeeded, didn’t we? We got her to camp.’

He shivered. ‘I… I want to be done with all this. I want it to be over and done, and I don’t much care whether I make it. But I need it to go right for Anna.

‘That’s all, isn’t it? Remember what we promised each other? I'm still doing it. That’s all this is.’ He laughed, suddenly, a laugh that sounded almost like a sob. ‘I'm starting a war against the gods to keep a promise I made behind a 7-11 when I was sixteen.

‘Love you, Thals. Miss you.’

* * *

The next day Luke sat down beside Teach, as they were beginning their drive.

‘If only there were enough seats on this bus for everyone to have their own row,’ Teach mumbled, his eyes closed and face to the window.

‘I want to talk about what happened back at the gas station.’

‘I fucking don’t.’

‘Did you know that guy? Did you know the other guy, Hannah? How did you make him let you go? What about the Roman, how did you know him? I have a lot of questions, Teach, and I want answers.’

‘Castellan, I'm not in the mood to be a fucking magic-eight ball. I didn’t have a very wonderful night’s sleep.’

‘Talk to me, Teach.’

Teach flopped his head over so he was facing Luke, though he didn’t open his eyes. ‘I didn’t know either of those two. Okay?’

‘How did you know his name?’

‘I didn’t. You told me.’

‘What did you say to make him let us go?’

Teach smiled that smile of his that made Luke’s shoulder blades crawl. ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’

Luke stood. ‘I may have to kill you anyway, Teach,’ he said, and there was no trace of humor in his voice.

Teach smiled again, his eyes still closed. ‘I've known that since I met you,’ he said.

* * *

_What a piece of work is man._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sherlock theme music has been stuck in my head for days and I'm losing my mind. Anyway. 
> 
> Survive!


	12. Chapter 12

The gods found themselves helpless.

We, the tellers of this tale, are unable to see our readers. We are limited in our interaction by the static nature of the written word, and therefore cannot see your reaction or expression. We cannot read your response to what we write.

We hope, however, that you understand the surprising nature of the above sentence, and we will repeat it for greater impact.

The gods found themselves helpless.

It is a common piece of advice in the literary world that a writer should ‘show, don’t tell’. A writer, when telling a story, should convince the reader to feel a certain way, rather than telling them they should. A writer should not say that something is terrifying, or sad, or wonderful; instead, the writer should describe the _thing_ well enough that the reader is terrified, or saddened, or filled with wonder.

We, the tellers of this tale, understand this. And yet we will say again, simply:

The gods found themselves helpless.

And you, dear reader, should be surprised.

* * *

‘My children are dead,’ Hades said, standing in the middle of the throne room. ‘I cannot find them.’

‘What children do you mean, brother?’ Zeus rumbled ominously.

Apollo scoffed. ‘Oh, come on, father,’ he said. ‘Now is not the time to bring up the damn vow. You’ve all cheated on it, apparently. You’re all even.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ Hades said, ‘I did _not_ cheat on the vow. These children of mine were born before we swore to that pact. I have kept them… hidden, for their own safety, ever since. And now they are dead.’

‘How do you know they're dead?’ Hermes asked.

‘I cannot feel their presence.’

‘But you're not certain.’

‘What could hide my children from me? What being has that power?’ Hades asked. Some of the gods shot a look at Hera. She rolled her eyes.

‘There have been some _interesting_ movements lately,’ she said. ‘Some powers stirring. Some gods unhappy or missing. Not much, but… it’s possible your children have been taken rather than killed.’

Hades was wearing his helm, so his face was hidden. None of the gods could see his expression. But the hope was painfully evident in his voice. ‘They could be alive.’ It was a statement, rather than a question.

‘They could.’ Hera sat back in her chair and touched the tips of her fingers together, the well-known sign – well-known, at least, among the Olympian family – that she had had enough of speaking.

‘You come at a difficult time, brother,’ Zeus said. ‘We have been discussing matters of administration. Olympus, in fact, should be closed. No one but the Council is to be allowed.’

‘I notice our sister at her hearth,’ said Hades. ‘If she is to be present, I would ask at least to listen.’

‘Then sit,’ Zeus said. He twirled his hand and a wooden stool appeared in the corner of the room, near the modest hearth which Hestia sat stoking. Hades ignored the stool and made his own twirling hand gesture, and a rather grandiloquent-looking granite throne (complete with skulls and blue fire in brass braziers) formed at the end of the room, opposite Zeus’ position at the head. He sat.

‘We were saying, I think, that the disciplines of the smaller wind…’ Zeus began, but at that moment Apollo sat bolt upright.

‘Oh, _fuck_ ,’ he said. His eyes glowed green.

‘Son?’ Zeus asked. ‘What…’

‘It’s an oracle speaking through him,’ Athena said. ‘See the green? Just listen.’

But Apollo said nothing; instead, Hera stiffened and let out a stifled shriek.

‘What is _happening_?’ Zeus asked.

‘Something bad,’ Ares observed, probably unnecessarily.

‘Does this always happen at these things?’ Hades asked Hestia quietly. She shrugged.

Hera stood and rushed to the window. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Far-see, I mean. Look at New Hampshire. Between those two mountains…’

The gods looked, together, seeing further than any mortal could have. They looked, and saw…

* * *

When Adam and the Firstborn saw the lady Tinnit rising from the earth, they saw only a dark shape. When she descended again, they saw a beautiful, but veiled, woman, who spoke kindly and encouragingly. When the Carthage recruits saw her (later on) they saw only glimpses, flashes, of her nature, in images that their minds struggled to understand.

The gods saw her clearly, in that moment, as she rose from the earth and struck down the two mortal jets. And it sickened them.

They had seen her before, in their Roman forms, long ago when Carthage and Rome still maintained an uneasy peace. They had avoided her, averting their eyes or intentionally not piercing the veil. She was repulsive to them even then, when Rome was at its fiercest and most bloodthirsty. Now, after two millennia of Western civilization gradually growing calmer and more complacent, seeing Tinnit unchanged after all this time was like a slap to the soul; like having maggots and ice water thrown in your face. They reeled.

‘My god,’ Apollo said, wishing there was a curse more appropriate to a divinity. ‘What… how…’

‘I remember her,’ Artemis said. She was, perhaps, the least affected, since she was the one who had dealt most with Tinnit, in the old days. It had been she and her Hunt who had pursued Tinnit’s black spirits; it had been she, the goddess herself, who had shot Tinnit in the chest during that frantic retreat from Rome. She stood, staring at Tinnit speaking to the man Adam, and her fists clenched at her sides. ‘I killed her, once before. I’ll do it again.’ She went for her bow, but Zeus stopped her.

‘No. If she’s back…’ He trailed off, visions of the Baals parading themselves before his eyes like a grotesque horror show. ‘Then they all are.’

‘If I had lived the rest of my life without seeing Hammon’s face again, it would have been too soon,’ Ares said.

No one else said anything. There was nothing that needed to be said.

‘What are we going to do?’ Hades asked finally, when they had seated themselves again and were pointedly avoiding looking out of the windows (except Artemis, whose fingers went on flexing and unflexing as she stole glances now and then at Tinnit, who was crossing and recrossing the new city of Carthage). ‘We can’t just let the Baals… come back.’

‘We’ll have to fight them,’ Poseidon said. ‘There’ll have to be war. And soon.’

‘No!’ Zeus said. Even Ares looked uneasy. ‘War is exactly what we’ve been trying to avoid. That’s why we’re here. That’s why Olympus is closed. We don’t want war.’

Poseidon blew up again. ‘What do you want, then, O king?’ he snapped. ‘You want peace with those things? You want to live alongside Saphon and Hammon? Hades, do you want to share the underworld with Sur? We can’t coexist. We found that out the hard way, two thousand years ago. That war cost thousands of lives. This one doesn’t need to.’

‘Who do you propose we send to fight?’ Zeus asked. ‘The Roman camp? You want to send, what, two hundred kids to march to their deaths? Or the one here? They’re not even soldiers, those kids. They’re not trained for war. In two years, _maybe_ , we could get the camps prepared. If we pulled all our influence, went in person to both camps. If we convinced the minor gods to fight with us – which they won’t, by the way, what with your reputation with wind gods.’

‘In two years Hammon will have an army,’ Poseidon said. ‘He moves fast. Faster than us. He’ll buy soldiers – vampires from the east, werewolves, the witch warlords who rent zombie hordes. He’ll recruit the giants. You know what will happen if we give him time. Imagine what an army of Moloch fanatics could do with rifles and grenades.’

‘A Moloch-tov cocktail,’ Apollo murmured, but it wasn’t very funny.

‘Give it a day,’ Zeus said, placatingly. ‘We’ll open up Olympus again. Declare a state of emergency. Let everyone know what's going on. Get as many of the gods to join us as possible. Then we’ll see.’

Poseidon put his head in his hands.

* * *

Of course, when an Olympian says ‘give it a day’, it becomes a week, which can possibly become months. (In this case, of course, they weren’t given a month.) The Olympians scattered, trying to drum up support. But even at the best of times, the minor gods are hesitant to join up with Olympus on any major issue; now, with Poseidon’s destruction of Boreas so recent, and considering the fact that the ‘issue’ was a full-scale war, the response was lukewarm at best.

Some gods, in fact, were downright hostile. Many of them had already committed to Chronos, and were nervous that their loyalties had been found out. Remember, reader, that Chronos had been busy for a long time. He owned many of the gods already. The Olympians didn’t know this, and they became discouraged.

And with the discouragement came the nerve-shattering conviction that they were _losing time_. The enemy was gathering troops; they could see that. Carthage grew exponentially. By the end of the week, more than six hundred people had become Carthaginian; and most of those six hundred were wanted criminals.

The United States response to these strange events is puzzling to mortals. But not to us. We, the tellers of this tale, are perfectly aware of the doings of Chronos. He, the lord of time, could not do much in the mortal world; but he could give dreams.

And during this time he gave a _lot_ of dreams. Officials at every level and in every department of the government were subjected nightly to a parade of horrors, made worse by the fact that the dreams were often about real life events, and were sometimes about _things that hadn’t happened yet._ Chronos could show them, at night, an imaginary Columbian cartel shooting; and then the next day everything would happen just as they had seen.

The emotional trauma sustained when a man reads about his sleep-paralysis-nightmare in the afternoon paper is immense.

And then, after a few nights of unsettling dreams, they would be given some very specific ones. About Carthage, and the horrors that awaited; about a pit, a pit formed of blood and broken glass and the screams of the damned; about what was inside the pit. And they would wake up screaming.

And Carthage remained. Most people were afraid to touch it. A few, in certain branches of the military, the ones who took sleep medication and didn’t dream, sometimes tried to bring up the possibility of surrounding Carthage and starving them out. They were shouted down.

* * *

Sergeant Evan Pryor. He was a member of the US Military, serving in the National Guard in New Hampshire. He and a fellow named Nick Sanchez had been deployed to a highway which wound eventually to what had become Carthage. They were about eighteen miles out. They were armed.

A minivan chugged along the road toward them. It was a cold day, and the heat coming off the van could be seen from a mile away.

‘Alright,’ Pryor said. He and Sanchez got out of their vehicle, rifles slung across their chest, and stood on both sides of the road. When the van got closer, Pryor stepped out in front of it, one hand out.

‘Hold up,’ he called. The van pulled to a stop. He went over to the driver’s door. The driver’s window rolled down. It was a man in a cowboy hat, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

‘Good afternoon, officer,’ he said. The accent was Southern – probably a Kentucky good old boy, Pryor thought. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘Where are you headed?’ Pryor asked. He noticed for the first time someone lying across the backseat. ‘And who you got with you?’

‘That’s my wife,’ he said. ‘We’re headed to visit her mam in Jersey.’

‘Where you from?’

‘’Tucky.’

‘Not the best road to Jersey, sir,’ Pryor said. ‘I'm sorry, but this road is closed to civilians. Please turn your vehicle around.’

‘You can’t do that,’ Kentucky said. ‘I’ve got a right to drive on whatever road I want, haven’t I? So what if this ain't the best road? I can take it if I want to?’

‘It’s closed to civilians,’ Pryor repeated. ‘Please turn your vehicle around.’

The man paused. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘So I ain't going to her mam’s. So we are going to check out this Carthage place. You tellin’ me I got to go all the way around if I want to get there?’

‘The United States of America is currently in a state of war with the nation of Carthage,’ Pryor said stiffly. ‘You would not be permitted to cross the border, whichever way you came. Turn your vehicle around, sir. I'm not going to ask again.’

‘That’s not what _I_ heard,’ the man said, slyly. ‘ _I_ heard Carthage was lettin’ people in. Any sort of people, no matter who they were. _I_ heard all you pussy-ass cops wasn’t allowed within ten miles of the place.’

‘Turn your vehicle around.’

‘I'm going to join up with them!’ the man said, his voice shrill and angry. ‘And not you or anybody else is going to stop me!’

Pryor raised his rifle. ‘You have ten seconds to comply. Turn around.’

‘ _You can’t point that at me! I'm a US citizen!_ ’

‘Sounds like you were planning to switch over!’ Pryor shouted, suddenly furious. ‘Sounds to me like you wanted to join up with Carthage, you sick fuck! Turn your car around or I swear to God…’

Three shots. Two in the head, one in the heart. But it was Sanchez, not Pryor, who fired, and it was Pryor who fell to the ground, his head half-gone. Sanchez stared at the body, surprise and horror mixing on his face. The Kentucky man stared too, and then gave out a bark of laughter. ‘What was that for, boy?’ he asked. Sanchez swallowed, still staring at Pryor.

‘He… we…’ he said. ‘We can’t… we can’t stop it, can we?’ He looked up at the Kentucky man as if seeing him for the first time. ‘We were sent here to keep people out of Carthage. To stop them from getting any more recruits. But… we can’t stop it.’ He looked back at Pryor, and there was a strange sort of hopelessness on his face now. ‘You’ll keep coming. You, and everyone else…’

‘You’ve had the dreams, haven’t you, boy?’ the Kentucky man asked. Sanchez didn’t answer, but his expression was answer enough. ‘Well, I'm going to join up before I get ate up.’ He started up his car again. ‘Want to come with? _She_ won’t mind.’

Sanchez shook his head.

‘All right, then. So long.’ Kentucky pulled away. Sanchez watched him drive off until the van was just a white speck. Then he laid down next to Pryor, put the barrel of his army issue in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

And so the gods found themselves helpless. The worst of people – the scum, the shadows, the underbelly – began to congregate to Carthage. The government couldn’t stop it, or didn’t want to. And Adam – last son of Moloch – stood by the bridge, and welcomed each new member as they came, and he laughed.

And he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

* * *

_You could not, sir, take from me anything I would more willingly part withal – except my life._

_Except my life._

_Except my life._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely the weirdest summer I've ever had. I should have been in a play but COVID screwed that up. So now I'm lonely and depressed, like most of the world. :(
> 
> Anyway, leave a comment and/or kudos! Survive!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. :)

Eleven days after Carthage was declared a sovereign nation, Luke’s team ran into what Teach called a ‘temporal anomaly’, and what Paul called ‘weird time’. It looked like nothing but heat shimmering in the air, and Paul didn’t notice it until they were into and out of it. The whole thing lasted no more than a few feet; less than a second to be through it.

Then they started yelling at him. It had been early afternoon when they went in; it was the middle of the night when they went out. The sun had disappeared with a snap of the fingers, so it seemed.

‘What happened?’ Luke yelled. Paul pulled to the side of the road, eyes wide. Everyone ran to the windows, most of them armed.

‘Time,’ Teach said. ‘Our… sponsor is on the move, it seems.’

‘What?’ Luke asked.

‘I've run into those a few times in the past. Temporal anomalies. You gain or lose time, usually a few hours. Like a spot in the world where time is thinner. A gift from the lord of Time.’

‘Great. So we jumped from… one in the afternoon to midnight?’ They checked their watches, but the clocks hadn’t changed. They still showed 1:04, except for Ulf’s which showed 1:06 and which he hastily adjusted.

‘It would seem so.’

‘Great. Well… Paul, let’s keep going. I guess eleven hours doesn’t make much difference.’

Paul put the bus back in motion and they pulled away from the ‘anomaly’, which Luke would always call ‘the time travel trap’ in his head.

It’s funny, the sort of things that can make a difference in a story, or a life. For the team, it was the difference of nothing more than a certain amount of light to travel by. Nothing much changed for them. And they didn’t notice anything was wrong, not for a while. They went on thinking it had only been a few hours.

Actually, they lost eighteen days in the ‘time travel trap’. And in those eighteen days, a lot was going on in Carthage, Rome, and Camp Half-Blood.

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, have the benefit of omniscient hindsight. We can see, with an eagle’s eye view, the events of this story, because they have already happened. We can jump back and forth between continents with the ease of a line break. Thus we can reduce into a few short sentences what took eighteen days to actually occur. While Luke and his team were frozen in the time trap, the following things took place:

Carthage, as the gods predicted, enlisted the help of the werewolf clans and the vampire families, as well as convincing the giants (the old giants) to join them. Besides these additions, their mortal ranks had swelled to well over a thousand. Any attempt by the United States government at interference was swatted down, either by the Baals or from within, as in the case of the unfortunate Nick Sanchez.

Camp Jupiter – Rome – deployed its legions after Praetor Grace’s squad failed to report. The dispatched soldiers found nothing but a smoking hole in the ground where the gas station had been, and any remains had been incinerated in what appeared to be a gas explosion. The Roman soldiers went on eastward. They moved slowly, however, taking care to exterminate as many monsters as possible as they went. Praetor Ramirez-Arellano led them.

The Olympians had failed to garner much support. The satyrs, of course, were wholly theirs, as were many of the minor gods who lived in Olympus itself. Chiron, reluctantly and privately, pledged the support of his Camp. But besides these few allies, they were alone.

(Hades, incidentally, placed the finding of his children far above any other matters of the Olympians. But, though he threw his whole effort into finding them, they remained hidden, outside time. Finally, he gave up. And it was then that Chronos put the bus back into normal time.)

* * *

Finally, Luke’s team arrived in New York. They still had no idea of the eighteen days they had lost, or of any of the matters which had been going on in their absence. They knew nothing of Carthage, and though Luke had heard Annabeth mention the closing of Olympus, he hadn’t heard anything more, or of its reopening.

They found a hotel in which they could stay for a while. When they were settled, Luke said he needed to go to Camp before they could move on to the next stage of the invasion of Olympus.

‘Why?’ Teach asked.

‘I don’t see that you need to know,’ Luke answered, and that was that.

He took a taxi and had the driver drop him off in what the driver called the middle of nowhere. In fact, Luke could see Thalia’s tree. When the taxi finally drove off, he walked slowly up the hill.

 _In three days this will be gone,_ he thought. _When everything is made right, this will have been swept away._ He found the thought both satisfying and disturbing. No more demigods treated like dirt because their parents weren’t Olympians; at the same time, no more children of Olympians, unless Chronos was uncharacteristically merciful to the gods. Luke considered the fact that he would be one of Hermes’ last children.

He stood by the tree. From this distance, the cabins looked like shoeboxes, and the Big House looked strangely perfect, like a dollhouse. He could see a few campers moving around the grounds. He patted the bark, took a deep breath, and walked down the hill and into camp.

Most of the campers either didn’t notice him or passed him without comment. He knew very few of them. He ignored them, and went straight to the Big House. Chiron was sitting on the porch.

As he approached, Luke became conscious that he didn’t look his best. He hadn’t shaved since he had left; his shirt was torn and bloodstained; both arms were, for some reason, covered with soot. He remembered belatedly that his pistol was still conspicuous in his shoulder holster; then he remembered that it didn’t matter anymore.

‘Hello, Chiron,’ Luke said.

‘Hello, Mr. Castellan,’ said the centaur. ‘Welcome back.’

‘How is everyone?’

‘Miss Chase is… fine. She has returned from her quest successfully. And…’

‘ _Returned_? What, was the fleece at Gimbels? How long did it take her?’

Chiron looked mildly surprised. ‘You have been gone for quite some time, Mr. Castellan. She has only just returned.’

Luke stared blankly. ‘She told me she was leaving… the day before yesterday.’

Chiron frowned. ‘I believe she made that call nineteen days ago, Mr. Castellan.’

‘What? No, that’s… it was just the other day!’ Luke probably would have remembered about the time trap if he had had another few moments to think. But Chiron said, ‘Well, be that as it may, I think there is someone here you should see.’

‘What? Who?’

‘The Golden Fleece has the power of healing, Mr. Castellan. And there was someone in this camp who was greatly in need of that power. When Miss Chase retrieved the fleece, the very first thing she did with it upon returning was to hang it on the tree.’

‘The…’ Then he realized. The door opened.

‘Hey, Luke,’ she said.

‘…Hi, Thalia,’ he said.

* * *

_You lie bound in a room. Three men, this time, stand around you, and they argue to each other in that tongue which you do not know. But you are older than you were the last time you were in their hands. You know what it is that they discuss, and the frequent gestures towards you with their knives only makes the point clearer._

_You close your eyes and make peace with yourself. It has been many years since you left our people. You have almost forgotten; only sometimes do you remember, dreamlike, your time with us. So now you try to accept death, something we would never do._

Do not give in, _we told you once._ Do not die quietly. If you are to be killed, bring down your executioner with you. If you are bound hand and foot, bite him if you must. Do not ‘die well’. There is no such thing.

_But you have forgotten, so now, as they prepare to kill you, your eyes are closed and you are reciting a mantra. Your eyes are closed, so you do not see the knife as it descends; your eyes are closed, so you do not see the blurs as we burst through the door, faster than should be possible, and kill the men standing above you. When they fall, almost at the same time, you open your eyes._

_Our people do not show emotion, as a rule. We consider it weak. But as you begin to remember us, as we cut your bonds and raise you to your feet, you wipe your eyes. And we do not disapprove._

* * *

_I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?_

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not a long chapter. Neither is the next one. But we’re getting there. This is… the interlude, you might say, between the quest (now finished) and the ‘final battle’ (coming right up). That’s how stories work, right? There’s a quest, and then a battle or at least a dramatic conflict, and then the hero stands atop a pile of his enemy’s corpses and watches the sun rise on a grateful universe…
> 
> Well, damn. What am I supposed to do now, since the hero died in the beginning? If this weren’t a note, I’d probably go off on a ‘we, the tellers of this tale’ side comment.
> 
> Anyway, love all you guys! Lik, commant, subskrib?! And, as always, ding that notification bell. (And become a member, for exclusive content and access to my onlyfans.)
> 
> Survive!


	14. Chapter 14

‘It’s been a while,’ Thalia said, while he struggled to focus. ‘For you. I guess. For me it’s been… it feels like only a few days…’

He cut her off with a hug, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. For a moment, he felt like he was fifteen again, still excited, still eager, ready for the next quest and glad in the joy of _being_. She was there, and Annabeth, somewhere, and for that moment he felt that everything would be all right.

They stood like that until finally Luke said, ‘You're not dead.’

‘Not yet.’

He stepped back. ‘I'm… I don’t know what to say. How are you?’

‘I'm fine. The fleece… made me better. Not a tree. You? Anna said you were on a quest.’

Then it all came crashing back, and his smile curled up in a hole and died. ‘Right.’

‘And?’

‘It’s… almost completed. This is a weird moment for you to be resurrected.’

‘Oh, boy. I love weird moments.’

‘Yes, Mr. Castellan,’ Chiron broke in from the corner of the porch. He had tactfully said nothing until now, but he wheeled himself forward a few feet and then leaned toward Luke as if inviting a secret. ‘I believe it would be best if you explained your absence _now_ , before… certain others arrive.’

‘Annabeth, you mean.’

‘Yes. I am very afraid, Mr. Castellan. I will admit it. Please… what have you been doing?’

Luke took a breath. When he spoke, it was more to Thalia than to Chiron. ‘I've been preparing for the rebellion. Against Olympus.’

The words weren’t quite the bombshell he had been expecting. Chiron sat back and covered his eyes with one hand, and Thalia’s face froze into a blank expression, but that was it. He took another breath. ‘I'm here to offer the demigods of Camp Half-Blood a chance to join me. They have the right to know the _wrongness_ they're serving before they're forced into a war…’

‘Couldn’t this have waited?’ Chiron burst out. ‘No. I suppose it couldn’t have. Your… master, I assume, is the lord of Time?’

‘Chronos. Yes.’

‘And you dare to speak of wrongness. Olympus may have faults, Mr. Castellan, but it does not eat its children.’

Luke flared up. ‘Really? Are you sure? Look around, Chiron. Look at this camp. Cabins to Hera, Poseidon, Zeus, going unused and unneeded, while Hermes cabin fills up with the rejects whose parents aren’t _important_ enough to warrant equal treatment. Kids, all over the country, abandoned and alone because some Olympian got horny and wanted to fuck some mortal. This Olympus you think is so great is a hypocritical, selfish, self-serving trash heap, and it needs to go. Chronos offers equality. When Olympus is overthrown, it’ll just be him. No one will be left out. No eight-year-olds will cry themselves to sleep in Chicago alleys. No more halfbloods will get eaten by monsters because no one showed them how to survive.’ He paused for a breath, and Chiron held up a hand.

‘I cannot convince you, Mr. Castellan. And you cannot convince me.’ He sighed. ‘Your conviction comes from the good in your heart. I fear that Chronos will use your best qualities as tools for his evil.’

‘There is no evil but what is atop that mountain.’

Chiron nodded, not in agreement but in recognition of Luke’s words. He looked out over the strawberry fields for a moment. None of them spoke. Finally, he said, ‘Do you know of Carthage, Mr. Castellan?’

‘The old empire?’

‘Yes. Do you know the gods they worshipped?’

‘No.’

‘The Carthaginian people came from the Phoenician traditions. They brought together many of the gods of the various people groups of that time. Their gods were called the Baals, an old Phoenician word meaning ruler or lord. Baal Hammon was the king, a weather and fertility god whose main purpose in times of peace was bringing the rains. He had a wife, Tinnit, who was the war goddess. There were many Baals. None of them were pleasant.

‘The Carthaginian gods demanded child sacrifice. In order for them to go on taking care of Carthage, they required that the firstborn children of the royal families would be sacrificed. Foremost among the gods who devoured the children was Moloch. He was depicted usually as a bronze bull-man, not unlike our Minotaur in appearance. His holy figure would be several times as large as a man, and hollow on the inside. Wood or coal would be placed inside the figure, and it would be set alight, causing the bronze to become red-hot. The child would be placed on the burning, outstretched hands of the idol, and…’ He stopped for a moment, glancing at Thalia, who looked horrified. ‘I'm sorry. You understand.’

‘Moloch. Child sacrifice. Baals. Carthage. So?’

‘The point, Mr. Castellan, is that Moloch was unique among the Carthaginian gods. He was not borrowed from other Phoenician cultures. Those gods drifted to Carthage because they wanted novelty and adoration. But Moloch was there already. He had been around for much longer.’

‘I don’t know what exactly you're trying to say, Chiron.’

‘Moloch’s _modus operandi_ was the devouring of children. Does that remind you of any Greek entity, by chance?’

‘Chronos.’

‘Yes.’

‘So… Moloch is Chronos?’

‘Yes, Mr. Castellan.’

‘That was a long ride to get to that fact, Chiron,’ Luke said, being as harsh as he could because he was uncertain and didn’t want to show it. ‘But I don’t see how it’s relevant. So Chronos was part of Carthage, so what? He had a different name, so what?’

‘Luke, you claimed that when Chronos ruled he would bring an end to the suffering of these demigod children. All I was suggesting is that a god who throve on infant sacrifice may not be the best vehicle to your goal.’

‘That’s enough,’ Luke said. ‘All this doesn’t change the fact that Olympus is corrupt and needs to go. We can work out… Moloch, or whatever, later on. He tells me what I need to know.’

‘And only what you need to know,’ Chiron murmured, still looking out over the strawberry fields.

‘ _Enough_.’ Luke turned to Thalia. ‘Thals? What do you think?’

‘About what,’ she asked, staring at Chiron.

‘About the rebellion. About the kids. Will you come with me?’

Her mouth formed an _o_. She looked back at him as if seeing him for the first time.

‘Please, Thalia.’

‘I… I’ll think about it. I understand what you're saying, but… these are my family, Luke.’

‘You have two families. One of them turned you into a tree because you existed.’

There were tears in her eyes. ‘I’ll think about it. This… this really was a bad time for me to come back, huh?’ She hugged him again, suddenly. ‘Remember when it was just the three of us?’ she asked, quietly, into his shirt. ‘When we were always running, always in danger? I wish we could go back.’

‘I would give anything to go back,’ Luke said.

‘Let’s go. Just run off right now.’

He didn’t answer. She knew the answer, anyway. He just held onto her like she was a lifeline, and watched Chiron, who still looked solemnly over the strawberry fields.

* * *

Chiron let him speak in front of the campfire that night, to his surprise. He had expected Chiron to refuse, but instead Chiron had agreed almost eagerly. ‘The faster you say what you want to say and leave, the better, I think, it will be for everyone.’

Luke said much the same thing as he had said to Chiron on the Big House porch, by the campfire. There were about two hundred campers there that night, Annabeth among them. As he spoke, the flames dimmed and turned an ugly beige green, a reflection of the mood of the listening demigods. He didn’t expect a round of applause or any miraculous conversions, and didn’t get any.

When he was done, he hesitated a moment, staring out at the shadowed faces, and then walked out of the ring of firelight and into the trees. He didn’t want to listen in on the countless, inevitable, conversations. He had offered transport to anyone who wanted to join, and said that they would leave in the morning.

Annabeth followed him. He heard her coming and turned to meet her. He hadn’t seen her yet, and had a wild hope that they would have some sort of emotional reunion and that she would pledge her support. Instead she hit him, a full palm across the cheek. He took it, rolling his head a bit.

‘How could you,’ she whispered. It was dark, and he couldn’t see her face, but from the tone of her voice he was willing to bet she wasn’t crying. ‘You’ve betrayed us. Betrayed your family. Your home. This is _everyone_. _Everything_.’

‘I'm doing this _for_ everyone and everything,’ he said, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. She wasn’t going to listen to him, and for the first time he knew that this was going to be the divide between the three of them. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it until this moment, but of course Annabeth wasn’t going to join him.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘And when your rebellion collapses in on itself, I hope you get your mind back. You're not built on anything. Not even hope.’

‘We do have hope.’

‘For what? Chronos is evil. They cut him up and threw him into Tartarus for a reason, Luke. When he's in charge of everything – full power, no checks or balances… That’s why there’s a council rather than a king, you know. So that no one can have too much power. You're taking a flawed democracy and replacing it with a despotism.’ She threw her hands into the air, and growled in frustration. ‘It doesn’t matter at this point. You’ve already screwed us over too much.’

‘I’ll come back when it’s all over,’ Luke said softly. ‘I hope you'll… forgive me. We can go away, the three of us. Find somewhere godless and free.’

‘If Chronos wins this war,’ Annabeth said, hard and cold, ‘I will be dead.’ She turned and walked away, and he did not walk after her.

* * *

In the morning there were three demigods waiting by the hill, shoulders hunched and eyes cast down. No one else was around, and the cabins were closed and dark. Luke wondered wryly whether the other campers were in the Big House, hiding. He wondered whether Chiron had made a speech after he had.

As he was getting ready to go, Thalia came up to him. He knew before she opened her mouth that she wasn’t going to join him, and his stomach rolled over painfully.

‘I'm not going,’ she said, and he nodded. ‘But… I'm not going to fight you either. You're… you're right and wrong, at the same time. You're doing the right thing, but you're doing it the wrong way. I'm not going to fight in this war. I'm going to watch, and I'm going to take care of Annabeth. That’s it.’

‘Thank you.’ He paused, and then asked, ‘By the way… I talked to you a lot, while you were in the tree. Did you hear any of it?’

She smiled. ‘I think I did. The whole thing was weird, but… I had dreams. And a lot of them were of you, just talking. Those… those were the best.’

He hugged her, again, for a long time. It was for Annabeth, and the good left in the camp, and the good left in him, and Chiron, and everything he was leaving, all at once. It was a goodbye and a salute, to what he was abandoning in order to save.

Then they separated, and he walked up the hill, past the three demigods who fell into file behind him, and at the top he waved, and she waved back.

And then he left Camp Half-Blood.

* * *

He brought the demigods back to the hotel in a taxi, and lay down on one of the beds in one of their rooms and slept for a long time. He hadn’t learned the new recruits’ names; he didn’t care, at this point. He felt like he had been walking for years. There was grit in his eyes that he couldn’t blink away. All of it, all the pain and uncertainty, would end one way or another with the war. And that was all he drove himself toward.

They spent a few days in the hotel, just getting ready. At the end of that time, Chronos spoke to them, all at once, short and to the point: their allies were on the move. They would storm Olympus. They would overthrow the gods, or die trying.

‘Do they know we’re coming?’ someone asked. Luke didn’t know who it was; maybe Nico, maybe Paul. He didn’t look.

‘They will find it hard to miss us,’ Chronos said, and there was an unpleasant amusement in his voice that reminded Luke of Teach. ‘And you will lead the armies, Castellan.’

And the dream ended, and they were back in the hotel room.

And the Divine War had begun.

* * *

_One woe doth tread upon another’s heel, so fast they follow._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly this wasn’t a long chapter. But the whole point of this chapter (and, honestly, one of the main reasons for this story) was the moment between Thalia and Luke. Uncle Rick’s greatest crime, in my opinion, was that he never gave us any sort of reunion between those two. I wanted to see what could have happened, and that – along with the vague idea of a PJO fic without the PJ – was sort of the driving force for this story.
> 
> No fireworks. No dramatic lines. Just a quiet few minutes between them. I wanted that to be sort of the theme of this chapter, that nothing grand happens, not for Luke.
> 
> He’s not the hero, remember.
> 
> Survive!


	15. Chapter 15

The Baals burst from the earth for the last time, reborn all at once in a thundering, blazing renewal. Adam stood before the bridge, the one thousand, one hundred, and forty-three Carthaginian warriors behind them. There was no particular discipline or uniformity to them; they simply stood in rows, waiting for Tinnit to give her order.

But when the order was given, it was Moloch, rather than Tinnit, who spoke. He said only a few words, promising destruction and blood and death, and the army roared its approval. Then Adam began to march, and the army marched with him; and as they crossed the bridge the Baals lifted them up and placed them in New York.

Carthage began to fight.

* * *

The monsters had been gathering for the last week, scurrying and galloping and flying across the country, preparing themselves to serve their master in a final deciding battle. He had promised them much, mostly involving the flesh of demigods, and they had pledged themselves to him.

When the day came, they were ready; and when the command was given, they poured into the city, roaring and screeching and hooting and crowing, fangs and horns and talons outstretched, as they rushed madly toward Olympus.

The spawn of Tartarus began to fight.

* * *

The Roman legions had been stationed in the many floors of the Empire State Building that were inaccessible to mortals. When Moloch moved his armies, the gods moved theirs, giving the Roman leaders the command to arm themselves. The Romans were ready, trained and armored; but there were not many of them. They rushed from the doors of the Empire State as the first monsters entered the city, and by the time the enemy was close, they had erected barricades and formed shield walls.

The mortals ran in all directions. Some of them made it away before the monsters arrived.

Rome began to fight.

* * *

Luke’s team was ready. They had been for days. All it took was for Chronos to give the word, and they rolled into action.

They brought Nico as close to Olympus as possible, and watched as the monsters swarmed the Roman lines. The monsters were repelled at first, but the Romans weakened under the constant, relentless battering, and when the first shield wall caved in, Nico raised his hands.

And Nico diAngelo began to fight.

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, know the result of this battle. We know how it ends, and the consequences it had on the world. You, of course, do not, though you may have all kinds of speculations and guesses.

We have seen all of it happen, many, many times, as we prepared to tell this tale. We wanted to make sure we got everything right, you see. We wanted to be accurate. And in the telling, we have noticed something.

Luke Castellan was not a hero.

In this moment, as he sees the gorgons and Laistrygonians and the rest of the monstrosities Chronos dredged up from Tartarus, a hero would have turned against his master. A hero would have realized his mistake, realized the wrongness of his actions, and attempted to set things right. He would have joined the Romans at their barricade, joined the Greek heroes as they made their way – far too slowly, unfortunately – from Camp Half-Blood, and battled the forces of evil in an epic battle for the light.

He did none of this. He watched it happen. And though there was a sick feeling in his stomach as he watched, telling him that something had gone wrong, telling him that this was _not how it was supposed to be, good people were not supposed to die, Chronos had promised_ , he did nothing.

We have said it before and we will probably say it again.

Luke was not a hero.

The hero died in the beginning, and many more heroes died at that barricade.

There are very few heroes, now.

* * *

Nico raised his hand, and the asphalt cracked and ruptured in front of him. A rolling ridge of earth erupted from the ground, shooting out before him and into one of the barricades. It threw monsters and Romans aside as it went, but when the dust cleared the barricade had been demolished.

‘Wow,’ Luke said.

Teach laughed appreciatively. He raised his own hands, and the familiar blue flickers darted out and struck at the Roman lines. Soldiers fell and defenses crumbled.

Fantine was perched on top of an abandoned sedan, her rifle slung over her shoulder. She fired rapidly and accurately, her shots rhythmic. Romans died.

Ulf, Paul, and Greta were simply waiting. They had taken a sort of cover and were watching the fight. Luke unholstered his own pistol, but held it loosely by his side, watching Nico.

And suddenly, Nico disappeared, his body fading into the shadow he was standing in, melting and melding, until he was gone.

‘What the _fuck_ just happened to our guy?’ Luke shouted, scrambling to the spot Nico had just been in. ‘What…’

‘Shadow travel,’ Teach said. ‘I've seen it before.’

‘Seems like there’s a lot you’ve seen before,’ Luke muttered. ‘If we just lost the guy Chronos needed…’

 _I have him,_ Chronos’ voice came into Luke’s mind, clear and precise. _Do not worry about him. Carry on with the fight. Advance into Olympus. Reinforcements will be arriving shortly._

‘Right,’ Luke said.

The Romans had sectioned off a square around Olympus two blocks in all directions. But even such a small perimeter was becoming impossible for them to maintain, as more and more of their soldiers died. The monsters were a flood, relentless and disregarding of their own casualties, and though the Romans emptied clip after clip into them, they kept coming, wearing down the barricades until the Romans were forced to give, meter after meter, man after man.

‘Looks like we’re going to have to go,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll have reinforcements in a bit, whatever that means. Let’s…’

A spray of bullets went wild from some Roman soldier at the nearest barricade. The sedan Fantine was on lost all of its windows. Luke took a shot in the side. Greta took a shot in the chest. She collapsed.

‘Damn it,’ Teach hissed, and knelt over her, trying to find where she was hit, trying to stop the bleeding. Ulf stood over him, silently, watching, his hands twisting in and out of each other.

‘Is she okay?’ Luke asked weakly.

‘No,’ Teach said. ‘She’s going to die. Damn, damn, damn…’ He stood and grabbed his hair. ‘Can anyone heal? Does anyone have… Is there any…’ He spun, frantically, trying to think. Luke knelt.

‘Greta,’ he said. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. Barely. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘…s,’ she managed to gasp. He took that as a yes.

‘You saved my life twice. Honor and memory will be yours. Go with grace, sister.’ He took her hand.

Her lips twitched, and she died.

Teach sagged. Ulf, still standing over her, made a rumbling noise deep in his chest, either a mourning or an affirmation. Luke couldn’t tell which.

‘Hon går med åra,’ he said. ‘Yes.’ He drew his sword from its sheath across his back and walked away, towards the Roman lines, into the milling mass of the monsters still pouring in from outside the city towards the Empire Stare.

‘Ulf!’ Luke shouted.

The paladin was hidden by the moving bodies, and Luke lost sight of him. A few moments later, one of the shield walls scattered before a charging mass. Then it reclosed. And Ulf was dead.

Luke sat down. ‘Greta. Ulf.’ He paused, and looked toward Fantine. ‘Were they…’

‘No. Siblings. Brother, sister,’ she said, still shooting, her lips set and angry.

‘Right.’

Teach was motionless, still standing, his eyes closed.

‘Teach?’

‘It was when I was close to her,’ Teach said. ‘The magic. It was… an old spell. I traded mobility for power. Whenever I was close to her, Greta, I could do the magic. I picked her because she could be anywhere, anytime.’

‘And now you have nothing?’

‘Now I have nothing.’

‘You should have told me.’

‘I didn’t even tell _her_ ,’ he said bitterly. ‘It was supposed to be secret.’ The smile came back, that humorless smile that Luke was beginning to hate. ‘Now the secret dies. Like her. And her brother. And all the rest of them.’ He sat.

‘When the reinforcements arrive…’ Luke began, and stopped at the look on Teach’s face.

‘The reinforcements. Right. Did Chronos happen to tell you what exactly those were?’

‘…No.’

‘It’s Carthage, Castellan. Carthage. The old empire, the one that ate children and fought Rome. They're doing it again. Gods, man, why did you join up?’

‘To bring balance,’ Luke said. ‘To bring justice. To end the corruption of the gods. Why else? Why did _you_ join?’

Teach threw back his head and laughed, long, hard laughter, intended only to hurt. ‘To _end_ the corruption of the gods. That’s a joke. That’s real funny…’

‘Stop,’ Luke snapped. ‘What’s so funny? That’s the point. That’s what we’re here for.’

‘Is that what _they're_ here for?’ Teach asked, gesturing to the monsters swarming the Roman lines. Luke blinked. ‘Did you not think about that before you got yourself into this? Moloch doesn’t care about justice, man. He’s doing it for the throne. And the free food.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Why? Did he tell you so?’

‘Yes. He…’

‘He’s the prince of lies, Castellan.’

‘How _dare_ you…’

‘What? What’s he going to do? Kill me?’ Teach laughed once more, hopelessly. ‘There’s a lot worse coming with those reinforcements.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like their leader. My little brother.’

* * *

_You tell us, haltingly and hesitantly, as our tongue comes back to you, of your people and of their many troubles. You beg us, as comrades and brothers, to help you. To help them._

_We are unsure. We do not go to war, as a people. We do not like direct combat._

_But then she appears to us. The one who sent us before; the one who sent you away._

_And she tells us that we must listen to you._

_So we do. And you tell us more, tell us of the world. As you speak, we grow angry. And when you are done, our hesitation is gone._

_You lead us. And we go._

* * *

Camp Half-Blood arrived half an hour after Ulf and Greta died. They were driving in five white vans with the ‘Delphi Strawberry Farms’ logos on the sides. They plowed through the monsters and pulled up right next to one of the barricades. The first one out of the van was Clarisse LaRue, the counselor for the Ares cabin, closely followed by her brothers and sisters. The Romans let her through the shield wall, and the Greeks filed into the Roman ranks.

‘Greetings, Greeks,’ Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano said to Clarisse. ‘You’ve picked a good time to show up.’

‘And you’ve picked a damn _wonderful_ time to show you exist,’ Clarisse answered. ‘We hadn’t heard about you till yesterday morning.’

‘We had known about you for some time,’ Reyna said, blowing a mad centaur’s head into small pieces with her Sig Sauer. ‘We’ve… always wanted to meet.’

‘ _We_ haven’t,’ Clarisse said. ‘Anyway. We’re here now. And… if you see a tall blond guy with a scar on his face, like this, leave him to me, alright?’

‘Luke Castellan?’

‘Yeah.’

‘We have heard of him as well. I'm afraid that if you want to kill him, you'll have to get to him before I do.’

Clarisse shrugged, but she was smiling. The smile was just as humorless as Teach’s but somehow it wasn’t as morbidly unpleasant. Mostly because _she_ wasn’t as morbidly unpleasant. She drew her sword and pushed her way to the front of the line, screaming battle cries in Greek, to the displeasure of the decidedly Latin soldiers around her.

Reyna fired twice more before Annabeth put her hand on her shoulder. ‘Praetor Ramirez-Arellano?’

‘That’s me.’

‘My name is Annabeth Chase. Daughter of Athena.’ To Annabeth’s surprise, Reyna bowed. ‘What was that for?’

‘The daughter of a goddess. Rare indeed. It is my honor.’

‘…Right. I’d like to know about our situation. I'm in charge of… strategy, I guess you'd say. Although in sixteen square blocks there might not be that much strategy available.’

Reyna hesitated. ‘Do you by any chance bring Greek fire with you?’

‘We might have a few jars.’

Reyna smiled. ‘Then please, come with me.’

* * *

Adam marched at the head of his army. Most people would, at such a moment, have a mindset that could be properly described as ‘he’d never been prouder’ or ‘this was his moment’ or such similar phrases. But all that was going through his head at the moment was the line ‘what they're trying to say, I don’t know’ from the song ‘Benson Hedges’, and the desperate hope that he would be able to find someone with a sword made of Imperial gold, so he could fight them with his Tyrian silver and prove decisively that Carthage was stronger than Rome after all.

The men and women behind him were just as eager. They were armed with weapons appropriate to them individually – knives, flamethrowers, guns, baseball bats. One man was holding nothing but a broken bottle. Adam found it fascinating, the multitude of different ways different people preferred to kill.

He had asked Tinnit, earlier, whether the people he led would be able to fight. ‘They're not soldiers,’ he said. ‘They're untrained. Won’t they break and run?’

‘They have no choice, now, but to obey you,’ she had told him.

So now, when they got close enough to hear the gunfire, he broke into a run. Carthage, behind him, followed suit, so that when they got to the first Roman line they were charging at full sprint, all one thousand plus of them, and the Roman line crumpled like tinfoil.

* * *

‘Your _brother_?’

‘Yes.’

‘Your brother is leading the empire of Carthage.’

‘Yes.’

‘What the hell, Teach.’

‘I suppose you might as well know now, that my godly parent is not Hecate but is in fact Moloch. Chronos, you might say, but specifically in his Carthaginian…’

‘What the _hell,_ Teach?’

‘I'm not sure what you're asking.’

Luke stared around him. Fantine was still firing, and Paul was intently not listening to the conversation. ‘I… I don’t even know. He’s your brother, your parent is fucking _Moloch_ … This is a lot of exposition I could have used earlier.’

‘Really.’

‘That’s why they let us go at the gas station?’

‘I was able to convince him because I spoke the language, yes.’

‘That’s why you fucking _smelled funny_.’

‘I guess so.’

‘Godammit…’ At that moment there was an explosion in the distance. ‘What was that?’

‘An explosion.’

‘Shut up.’

‘On the Roman line in _that_ direction, I would imagine. I think…’ He stopped.

‘I think your brother’s here,’ Luke said.

Teach put his head in his hands.

‘Teach?’

‘Yes.’

‘I'm going to kill you, you know.’

‘I knew that the moment I met you,’ Teach said into his hands.

* * *

_One may smile and smile and be a villain._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments! Kudos! These are good things!
> 
> Survive!


	16. Chapter 16

At the end of the Third Punic War, the third of the wars between Carthage and Rome, the Roman army laid siege to the city of Carthage.

It was custom in those days and in that empire, among those people who gave up their children to the god Moloch, that the firstborn of the royal families, the richest of the merchants, would be sacrificed as a specific offering. They were considered the best and most worthy for the hunger of Moloch. But sometimes the parents of those children would cheat on their offering. They would buy children from poorer families and give those in place of their own.

When the Romans were before their gates and defeat seemed certain, the royal families of Carthage believed that it was their fault. They decided that they were being punished as a result of their iniquities in the sight of Moloch, and that because they had ‘cheated’ on the offerings, Moloch was ignoring their pleas.

As a final desperate attempt to cast back Rome, they burned over three hundred children that day.

It was of no use; the Roman armies pushed into the city. The fighting was so fierce, the citizens of Carthage so strong in their desperation, that the Roman general ordered the Carthaginian homes to be burned while their owners were still inside. Perhaps this was irony, the families of Carthage rendering their children to the flames only to be burned themselves hours later.

The city of Carthage fell, that day, and was burned completely to the ground. All Carthaginian written records were destroyed; every surviving citizen was sold to the southern peoples. Carthage was scattered like ash on the wind.

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, know very well how the final, deciding battle should take place. The hero – or, in this case, the main character – should lead a charge into the enemy ranks, and fight his way against all odds to the hub of the enemy forces. There, he should battle the leader of the opposition, and win a glorious victory at the last moment.

That is how a normal tale would go.

This story, however, does not follow such an easy path. For one thing, Luke does not actually take part in the battle.

* * *

Praetor Ramirez-Arellano was fighting for her life.

The Greek leader, Chase, had gone off to find the Greek fire. But a barricade had fallen, and Reyna had gone to help close the breach, and had been set upon by a pair of hellhounds. She crouched behind her shield as they circled her, guarding with her sword.

‘Come on, then,’ she said. She didn’t expect help, not for a few minutes at least; she was at the edge of their perimeter, and the Roman forces were stretched so thin that there wasn’t anyone near her.

One of the hellhounds leaped. She stabbed, and the blade went into its shoulder. It tumbled to the ground, roaring in pain. The other one tensed to spring –

‘Hold,’ someone called. The hellhound relaxed as if it was a popped balloon. ‘I want her alive.’

A man came into Reyna’s field of vision. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, his hands in his pockets. He looked for all the world like a bored college student, except for the sword at his side and the violent smile on his face. It stretched unnaturally. Reyna thought for a moment it was a Glasgow grin rather than his actual smile. He strolled towards her, and the monsters nearest them shrank back.

‘Name yourself,’ she said.

‘Adam Teach,’ he said readily.

‘You serve Chronos.’

‘I serve Carthage,’ he said. Her sword came up again.

‘Have you come to surrender?’ she asked. ‘If not, I'm about to kill you.’

‘Is that sword made of Imperial gold?’ he asked conversationally.

‘Yes.’

‘The pure metal?’

‘Yes,’ she repeated, now uncertain. ‘Why?’

‘Just something,’ he answered vaguely, and drew his own sword. ‘Alright, then. Have at thee.’

* * *

The monsters had broken through the Roman line, on the other side of Olympus from where Reyna now dueled Adam. The monsters had broken through, and then the Carthaginian warriors had poured in through the hole.

Smoke filled the air from the various fires that had begun to burn, testament to the more fiery of the monster horde. Broken glass, torn asphalt, and monster dust lay in heaps on the ground. Bodies lay where they had fallen. The mortals had long since fled the area; the Mist had obscured the rest, and police ignored the panicked calls about creatures with swords and teenagers wearing armor and carrying assault rifles.

The fighting had crept nearer and nearer to the Empire State itself. Romans and Greeks focused on the breach, trying desperately to force the enemy back, but their efforts only opened themselves up for attacks from other areas.

‘We’re going to lose,’ one of the Ares campers said to Annabeth, wrapping a bandage around her arm.

‘No, we’re not,’ Annabeth said, but she was lying and they both knew it. There was no one else coming; this was it, Rome and Camp Half-Blood and everyone. The gods were up there in some metaphysical realm, grappling with the Baals; everyone else who was a part of the godly world was staying as far away as possible. No one wanted to mess with Tinnit, especially not now that it was becoming clear who was going to win this fight.

‘Annabeth!’ someone called, a new camper who she vaguely remembered as belonging to the Demeter cabin. ‘It’s Luke. He’s over there… someone spotted him…’ But she was already running.

The barricades the Romans had set up were essentially great blocks of wood and barbed wire, reminiscent of those structures used in WWII. They had set up smaller supports behind them, so soldiers could have a height advantage and shoot down at the oncoming monsters. Annabeth pushed her way through the Roman shield wall to the top of one of these supports, and stared in the direction the Demeter kid had pointed.

‘Chase!’ someone said. ‘Get down!’ She ignored them.

There he was. He was leaning against a car, watching the battle, about a hundred yards away. She wouldn’t have noticed him if he hadn’t been pointed out. The monsters were rushing past him, and in the chaos of the battle he was almost camouflaged. There were three others with him, one of whom was firing a rifle into the Roman lines.

‘Take out those four over there,’ Annabeth hissed to one of the Roman squad leaders. The Romans took aim and started firing.

* * *

Luke was leaning against Fantine’s car, watching the monsters overwhelm the Roman lines, when a rattle of bullets smashed through the car and into the ground around him. He dove for cover.

Paul was already hunkered behind the car, but Fantine was scrambling, trying to get to the ground. Teach sat motionless on the curb, his head still in his hands.

‘Teach,’ Luke snapped. ‘Get down.’ Teach ignored him.

Fantine slid down from the car, but as she was diving for cover she _snapped_ to the side, her legs cut out from under her. She collapsed. Luke grabbed her arm and dragged her to cover.

‘I'm fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just… just my stomach. I’ll live.’ She held her side, blood leaking out from between her fingers.

‘Get her out of here,’ Luke told Paul. Paul hoisted her onto his shoulders and took off toward the nearest building, sprinting almost at a crouch.

Teach was still sitting by the side of the road, bullets hissing through the air around him. He didn’t move.

‘Teach,’ Luke said. ‘Do you want to die?’

‘It would be preferable to encountering my brother,’ Teach said, but he lifted his head and looked around. Finally he shuffled toward Luke and sat down, their backs against the car as bullets rained around them. Eventually the shooting stopped.

‘I guess they saw us,’ Luke said.

‘It’s just us, now,’ Teach said. ‘Just you and me. Are you going to kill me now?’

‘Do you want me to?’

Teach didn’t answer for a moment, but sat with his head back, looking up at the sky through the haze of smoke that now covered the streets around the Empire State Building. ‘When I was younger, much younger,’ he said, ‘I lived with the few Carthage sympathizers still out there. The ones who prayed to Hammon, in secret, and worshipped the Baals. I ended up thinking they were all insane, and I moved out. But my brother swore he would find me and kill me.’

He sighed. ‘I'm the firstborn, you see. Adam said he would do what our parents should have done. Give me to Moloch. Burn me in the holy fire.’

‘Gods,’ Luke said.

‘Yes, well. Now he's here. And I'm here, serving the same master I tried to run away from. It’s like Jonah.’

‘Like Star Wars,’ Luke said, almost unintentionally, but Teach laughed.

‘Yes. We’re the… the army that kills all the Jedi and sets up the Emperor as the supreme authority.’

‘We’re the Rebellion casting down the Empire,’ Luke insisted. Teach shrugged. ‘Why did you sign up, anyway?’

Teach sighed. ‘The same reason most of us signed up. Except for you and your bleeding heart, perhaps. Power. We all wanted power. I got the magic, as long as I was near Greta. That’s fucked, now. Everything that was given is being taken away. I suppose I almost knew it was going to happen, and yet I did it anyway. What does that say about me?’

Luke looked through the destroyed window of the car. It didn’t look like the Romans were paying any more attention to them. ‘I think the coast is sort of clear. We can make a run for the building Paul made it to.’

‘You can,’ Teach said. ‘I'm staying… right… here.’

‘Teach.’

‘I'm staying. I'm… very comfortable. Go on, go on, I’ll be fine.’

Luke shrugged, finally, and ran.

As he ran, Teach laughed.

* * *

Paul and Fantine were gone. If they were in the building, Luke couldn’t find them, and eventually gave up and decided they had gone on to somewhere safer. In fact, he never saw them again; and they pass out of this tale, not to return. We, the tellers of this tale, did not look to see where they went. We do not know.

Luke left that building into a different street, and from there to another, and on and on until he was out of the range of the Romans’ rifles, and far enough away from the actual battle that he couldn’t see the smoke. Every now and then a monster would pass him, sprinting wildly toward the fighting. They never gave him so much as a second glance.

‘Chronos told me I was going to be the leader of the armies,’ he called to a creature that looked like a satyr in a distorted funhouse mirror. ‘I was supposed to be your general.’ It ignored him.

Even this far from the fighting, though the air was clearer, the evidence of fighting was on the city around him. It was empty of mortals, and debris littered the ground; glass, masonry, bullet casings. He walked slowly, the gunfire behind him an almost soothing accompaniment to his steps. Time and space felt strange around him, as if he _should_ have been stressed and worried, but simply wasn’t. He felt a ridiculous sense of peace.

But under the peace was the gnawing uneasiness in his stomach that had been there since Chiron first mentioned Moloch, and which had only grown since. He tried to think clearly about the battle, and the reasons behind it, and what Chronos’ motives really were, but all that he could concentrate on was the memory of the day he and Thalia and Annabeth made it to camp, and of the exhilaration they had felt as they climbed up the hill.

_It was supposed to be the three of us. It was supposed to be the three of us. It was supposed to be…_

_Remember that time in Jersey, when we tried to convince that guy to buy us all lunch? When we ran into those teenagers fucking behind the gas station in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota, and Thalia couldn’t stop laughing? When Annabeth killed her first monster, and cried for an hour, and Thals and I had to promise her that it wasn’t going to come back? When Thalia dropped her knife by accident off the bridge in Oregon, and I dived to try to find it, but couldn’t, and got so cold I couldn’t talk? When we would all lie on the ground, at night, and look at the stars, and talk to the people who had been made into constellations…_

‘Alright!’ he shouted, at nothing and everything all at the same time. ‘Fine! Kill me, then! Strike me with lighting, Zeus, you fat bastard! Fuck you all!’ He screamed wordlessly, staring into the sky and hoping for the swirl of thunderclouds that would signal a quick and easy death. ‘ _Let me die!_ ’

But there weren’t any clouds, of course. Zeus was busy, fighting the Baals and God only knew what else. Luke thought for a moment that perhaps capital-G God would have a look in and do some smiting, but no smiting occurred.

 _Castellan_ , came Chronos’ voice in his ears. _Step into the shadow._

‘What?’

_Step into a shadow, boy._

Luke obeyed, and was instantly sucked in. His last coherent thought for a while was, _Shadow travel tastes like cotton candy smells…_

* * *

_O, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a dew._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send help. Quarantine is making me lose my mind.
> 
> Comment and kudos to show support! Survive!


	17. Chapter 17

_We are running, running, running, and war is in the air._

* * *

The firepit, at Camp Half-Blood. The seats are empty. The sky is gray and overcast. It is cold.

The ground hums. There is an unpleasant, persistent throbbing in the air, like the noise that comes _just_ before a speaker bursts out a blast of feedback.

The firepit is not burning. When it is unlit, it is simply a circular depression in the stone, perhaps twenty feet in diameter, with the seats in their amphitheater around them. There are some people in the firepit. Some are standing, some are sitting. Let us count them:

One. Adam Teach, the half-mad leader of the new Carthaginian empire. He is standing, and is unarmed but for the two swords hanging at his hip, one of Tyrian silver and the other of Imperial gold. There is a smile on his face.

Two. William Teach, the elder brother of Adam and once a member of the team sent by Chronos under Luke to retrieve demigods for the war. He is also standing, but, unlike his brother, he sags as if very little is keeping him upright. He truly is unarmed, and his hands hang limply at his sides. He looks, frankly, defeated.

Three. Nico diAngelo, the demigod who can frighten nightmares and who is the son of Hades without knowing it. He has been crying. He stands between the Teaches.

Four. Bianca diAngelo, the elder sister of Nico, a powerful demigod but apparently not what Chronos needed. She sits, crosslegged, on the ground. Her hands are tied and in her lap, and there is a blindfold on her eyes and a gag in her mouth. She is not moving.

Five. Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus and the only friend of Luke Castellan left to him. She also sits crosslegged on the ground, and, like Bianca, is tied, gagged, and blindfolded.

And six. Luke Castellan, newly arrived, having sprouted from a shadow like a jack in the box. He staggers, disoriented, his hands to his head. In a moment his vision will clear and he will see that there are captives sitting on the ground; for now, we will leave him in blissful ignorance for a moment, as we finish setting this scene.

Chiron is dead. We mention this only because he deserves to be remembered, even in such an abbreviated form. His death will not have the slightest impact on the rest of this tale. Adam Teach killed him with the sword he took from Praetor Ramirez-Arellano.

The Praetor is not dead, but she is very near death. We mention _this_ only because, in her small way, she affected the course of future events: in her duel with Adam, she left a sizeable notch in the edge of his Tyrian silver blade.

The Roman lines had been overpowered, and a pathway forced to the Empire State building. We should perhaps mention here that Olympus has – had – many enchantments guarding it. Thus the only way in or out, for anyone not an Olympian, was through the building itself and up the elevator. Nico could not shadow-travel the Carthaginian troops to the top of the mountain, though Chronos would have liked him to.

A few beleaguered pockets of Romans and Greeks remained, fenced in by barricades, fending off monsters in a battle for survival alone. But the monsters had turned their focus to the mountain, as groups of Carthaginian soldiers and monsters were ferried up to the 600th floor, and burst screaming onto the few defenders at the top.

Now that we have described the events from an eagle’s eye perspective, let us return to Luke, as his head clears from the dizzying effects of a forced shadow-travel, and he discovers his current situation.

* * *

‘Oh, gods, that’s horrible…’ he mumbled as he rubbed his temples. ‘It feels like TV snow in my head…’

He blinked and looked around. ‘What…’ Then he saw Thalia, and his hand flew to Backbiter’s hilt at his hip.

‘If you draw that sword, she will die,’ Adam told him. ‘I suppose you might as well, and save us the trouble of the _fight_ …’

‘Let her go,’ Luke said, though he knew with absolute certainty that his words would have no effect on this man.

‘No.’

‘You're his brother, right? Listen, she’s not with them. I’ll vouch for her. Let her go.’

‘No.’

‘I am the leader of Chronos’ army, damn it! I will speak to him myself…’

 _Don’t bother,_ came Chronos’ voice in his head. _I shall speak to you._

‘Tell him to let her go!’

_I don’t think I will._

Luke froze, suddenly terrified. ‘My lord…’

_Your sudden respect amuses me. No, Castellan, your loyalty to me seems to have vanished on the wind. Your fickle nature must come from your father._

‘My loyalty to you has never been stronger.’

_Somehow, I do not believe you._

‘Please… let her go… I _am_ loyal to you, my lord. I led your armies… found the boy for you…’

 _You say you remain loyal?_ Luke heard Chronos’ deep, slow laugh that he had heard only once before, when he had first pledged his loyalty. _Very well. Prove it._

The terror that had washed over Luke like a flood now turned to ice in his lungs, flash freezing his breath. ‘…How?’ he asked.

 _I seem to have a glut of lieutenants at the moment. Master Teach… yourself… the diAngelo boy…_ There was a pause, as if Chronos was savoring his words. _Teach is irreplaceable. He_ is _my son, after all. The two of you, however… No, you are not so special as you think. One of you will remain with me, and the other will die, here._

‘That’s…’ Luke heard himself saying. ‘That’s not fair… You promised me…’

_If you kill the boy, I will let Zeus’ daughter live. If he kills you, his sister will live. Two lives, two deaths._

Nico gasped, a hollow sound from deep within his stomach. ‘Please…’

Chronos laughed again. _I am not taking requests. Both of the girls are firstborn. Either of them would make a worthy sacrifice… both daughters of… what do you call it? the Three. The first brothers._

‘The Big Three.’ Luke realized he was talking again, and closed his mouth.

 _Yes._ Nico’s eyes had gone wide. _They do not know, yet, do they, Castellan?_

‘ _I_ didn’t know,’ he murmured.

 _You are the son and daughter of Hades, children. Lift your heads with pride, for you bear a noble name._ Chronos sounded amused.

‘Shit,’ Luke whispered.

 _Make room,_ Chronos ordered. The Teaches dragged Bianca and Thalia out of the circle, to the rows of seats just outside the firepit. They stood there, still and stiff.

‘Teach,’ Luke called. ‘Don’t let this happen. Don’t be your brother.’

Teach shrugged. ‘You should have killed me back there at the car,’ he said. ‘In a way, this is your own fault. Do you think _I_ want…’

 _Silence_ , Chronos rumbled. _DiAngelo. Castellan. If you step outside the firepit, they will both die, and you with them. Begin._

Backbiter was drawn and at the ready in less than a second. Luke crouched. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t know…’

‘Some rebellion this turned out to be,’ Nico said. ‘I'm sorry too. I don’t want to kill you.’

‘Me neither,’ Luke said, and lunged. Something _twisted_ , something black and unnatural, and he was back on the other side of the pit and Nico hadn’t moved. _He’s… so much stronger than me_ , he thought. _I'm going to die here. And Thalia too._ That thought took hold of his mind and wrestled its way to the front of everything. _She can’t die._

He tried to think, circling to try and gain time. But there was nothing to use, no tricks to play. Nico was stronger than him, and Chronos was far stronger than either of them.

‘What has he been making you do?’ he asked.

‘You asked me about the nightmares?’ Nico said. ‘He told me to… control them. Make them do what he said. He sent them to fight the gods. He had Bianca… he said…’

‘I know,’ Luke said. ‘I'm sorry.’ _Gods. He made the night creatures_ obey _him_? _Chronos may be stronger, but maybe not by a whole lot._ In fact, if Nico could control one of the fucking _primordial_ night beings… ‘Do you know their names?’ he asked.

 _Cease this talking,_ Chronos commanded. _Fight._

Nico, face tear-streaked, raised a hand and a flash shot toward Luke – no, not a flash, the _opposite_ of a flash, as if it was negative light streaking through the air – and hit him in the arm. It burned with a cold fierceness, like a living frostbite. Luke hissed. It was his off-arm, not his sword arm, so he tucked it against his chest and gritted his teeth. ‘Their _names_ , Nico. Were they… really powerful ones?’

‘One of them called herself the Mistress of Night,’ Nico said, and even in the frantic, miserable frame of mind he was in Luke caught a faint tinge of pride in his voice. ‘She seemed pretty powerful.’

‘And she _did what you said_?’ Luke asked, beyond shocked. ‘Nico, that was _Nyx_. You can…’

 _ENOUGH_ , Chronos roared, drowning out Luke’s words. _Kill him, boy, or your sister will die screaming. You are holding back._

Nico paled.

 _He knows Nico is going to win_. _And how could he not? Apparently he told_ Nyx _what to do. But Nico doesn’t know how strong he is. And if I tell him, I'm willing to bet the Teach bros will get real trigger happy in half a second._

He lunged again, but Nico was finished playing around, and the earth erupted around Luke like a hand. It held him, struggling, five feet off the ground. ‘ _Fight back_ ,’ Luke gasped, as the earth-hand began to _squeeze_ …

Nico froze. At his expression, Adam looked around. ‘What is it, kid?’ he asked. ‘Kill him, already.’

‘Don’t you _hear_ that?’ Nico asked.

‘Hear what?’ Adam asked. Teach (we, the tellers of this tale, will refer to them henceforth as ‘Adam’ and ‘Teach’ for ease of communication) looked up from his blank reverie, interested for the first time.

Nico gestured to the air, one hand to his ear. ‘ _Listen_.’

Adam paused for a moment, silent. ‘I don’t hear anything,’ he said, finally. Luke thought for a moment that Nico had made it up to try and buy time, and blessed the kid for it – but then he heard it too. It was faint, but even within the second that it took for him to recognize what it was it got exponentially louder.

‘It’s wolves,’ Nico said.

* * *

 _We burst upon them_ —

* * *

The first of the wolves leaped from the top of the amphitheater. There were so many of them that they looked at first like a carpet unfolding from the seats, albeit a carpet with fangs and eyes and tongues.

Chronos roared, but his voice was drowned out by the _howling_ that came from dozens of throats at once, the baying of predators let loose upon their prey. Adam and Teach both shouted wordlessly, Adam drawing both his swords and Teach fumbling at his belt for a weapon he didn’t have.

Nico’s earth-hand relaxed and Luke fell to the ground.

 _Kill him! Kill them! Kill them all!_ Chronos was screaming. _Listen to me, my sons! Kill all of them—_

But his fury was the least of the brothers’ worries, as the wolves leaped on them and they were forced to stand back to back to fight off their attackers. Adam shouted something in that language Teach had used, and gunshots went off in the distance.

 _Of course they have reinforcements,_ Luke thought, but he was already snatching up Backbiter and running toward Thalia.

The reinforcements arrived much sooner than he had expected; hardly five seconds after Adam had called, and as Luke was still running, bullets spat down from the top of the amphitheater. Eight or nine Carthage soldiers were standing there and firing, and though wolves are terrifying creatures up close, they die just like anything else when they're shot. Wolves began to die, and more Carthaginians began to arrive and to make their way down to the fight, armed with weapons more suitable to hand-to-hand combat.

Luke slid to a stop and knelt by Thalia, sawing at the ties around her hands. They were tight and thick, though, and he had hardly begun to cut through when a firm hand took hold of the back of his shirt and flung him backwards.

It was Adam, a wolf hanging onto his sword hand. He grinned at Luke, who scrambled to get back to his feet, and slammed the wolf down to the ground, once, twice, three times. At the third time, something _cracked_ in the wolf, and it went limp.

‘Hello, Luke,’ he said. ‘It’s nice to see you up close… my brother’s told me about you…’ Luke, still lying on his back, gunshots spattering around him and the howling of the wolves still the prevalent sound in the air, swung Backbiter wildly in Adam’s general direction. Adam hopped back and the sword swung harmlessly past his face.

Luke jumped to his feet. They exchanged blows for a moment, testing each other. Then… Luke swung, Adam parried, Luke drew back and Adam _thrust_ , his sword sliding past Backbiter with a grinding ring of silver-on-steel.

The moment dragged out for Luke. He watched the point of the blade moving at what seemed a snail’s pace toward him, toward his heart. He saw Adam’s wild grin, as it was clear that Luke couldn’t possibly deflect in time. The sword came closer and closer, and Luke, inexplicably, thought of blueberries. He prepared to die, and watched the blade…

And then it caught on the notch put there by the Roman Praetor. Just a nock, and just for a moment, before the force of Adam’s thrust carried it on and past. But that disruption in the thrust threw off its whole momentum, and the blade went wide, skidding to the side and missing Luke completely.

They stared, together, in complete surprise. Then they _twisted_ , at the same time and in the exact same way, and the swords flew out of their hands and to the ground a few yards away.

Adam shrugged. ‘Good thing I brought a spare,’ he said, and drew the other sword, the Imperial gold that had belonged to Reyna. ‘What about you?’ he asked, mock apologetically. ‘Got an extra blade hidden somewhere? A little mini-sword in your pocket?’

Luke considered diving for Backbiter, but knew immediately he couldn’t make it. Adam was only a foot away; the only reason he wasn’t already dead was because Adam was toying with him.

Then he remembered…

‘Actually,’ he said. ‘I do.’ He reached into his pocket, praying to whatever gods may have been watching that the universe could align and make him _not die in this moment_ , and pulled out the pen. He pointed it at Adam.

And, less than a foot away, smiling at Adam staring in amusement, he uncapped it.

* * *

Lightning struck the ground outside the amphitheater, throwing sparks into the air and scorching the ground. The eight Carthaginians turned, almost as one, their hair standing on end and their skin tingling.

‘Shit,’ one of them said. ‘That was _close_ , what the hell…’

And then lightning struck eight more times.

He wasn’t dead, of course. He hadn’t died in that gas station. The same thing had happened to him as it had thirteen years ago. Lupa had saved his life once, and she had – much older and grayer, admittedly – done it again. She had died the day after the events at the gas station, and he had mourned her as he had never mourned his true mother.

We, the tellers of this tale, do not really expect the reader to feel any sort of genuine emotion at the death of the wolf queen. You have not even known her. But understand that Jason Grace _did_ , and considering the fact that she had died because of the thirteen Carthaginian rounds buried in her internal organs, he had some killing to do to make up for Lupa’s death.

There are very few things in this mortal world more terrifying than a son of Jupiter properly angry.

He dropped to the floor of the firepit, allowing the winds to release him as he landed, and tossed his coin as he fell. The coin spun in the air and landed in his hand a spear.

He and the wolves fought together in a complicated pattern that almost resembled a dance; a wolf would attack an enemy on one side and fall back to allow another wolf to charge from another angle, and so on and so forth until the enemy was exhausted and let his guard slip enough for his throat to be torn out. It was the same general principle as their technique of herding deer and moose, harrying and biting to keep the panicked animal running in the direction they wanted.

The Carthaginians died.

When the fighting was over, the ground was covered with bodies. Mostly human, some wolf. Still standing were Luke and Jason, along with about two dozen of the wolf pack. Thalia was unhurt but still bound and gagged. Teach was on the ground, but breathing.

‘Where are the diAngelos?’ Luke asked as he cut Thalia’s ties and pulled the gag out of her mouth.

‘What the fuck has been going—’ Thalia said.

‘They disappeared into the—’ Jason said.

Then they stopped, and gave one another a closer look.

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, have no desire to describe the following conversation. It is long and rather repetitive, and the end result is one which we believe you, dear reader, may have known already.

Thalia Grace and Jason Grace were siblings, born to the same mother and essentially the same godly parent. They were reunited with much tears…

And the story may continue.

* * *

‘What do we do with him,’ Luke asked, gesturing toward Teach, who lay on the ground in what seemed an almost catatonic state.

‘The real question,’ Jason said, cutting him off, ‘is what do we do with _you_. _He_ is easy. We kill him. But with you, one wonders whether burning, or dismemberment, or disembowelment, or simply hanging…’

‘Stop,’ Thalia said. ‘We’re not going to hurt him.’

‘He betrayed everything and everyone,’ Jason said, voice hard. ‘Because of him, many good people are dead, and even now the gods fight a battle they are hard-pressed to win.’

‘He’s my friend.’

‘That does not excuse his crimes.’

‘I’m perfectly willing to die,’ Luke said. ‘But the diAngelos are missing. You said they…’

‘Disappeared into the shadow,’ Jason said. ‘Melted away like snow.’

‘Then they could be anywhere. And that kid is powerful. If Chronos still has his sister, he can make him do whatever he wants. We have to…’

‘ _We_ have to fix what you have undone,’ Jason said. ‘ _You_ are going to die.’

‘Jason,’ Thalia said. ‘Stop.’

Jason flipped the coin. It landed in his hand a sword.

‘ _Jason_.’ He ignored her, and started toward Luke, who stood with his hands at his sides. Thalia threw out her hand and a gust of wind blew Jason ten feet backward. ‘Jason, I'm not going to let you kill him.’

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you honestly defending him? Gods above, you really…’

He was cut off by a sound.

* * *

We, the tellers of this tale, have interrupted this portion of our story many times already. But we must once again interject.

The sound that interrupted Jason Grace was a sound that echoed across all of space. It was a sound that no one had ever heard before, and no one will likely hear again. We heard it, but we cannot begin to describe it. Suffice it to say that it was a horrible sound, and that the first image that came to mind when we heard it was a picture of one of those many-eyed, tentacled, Lovecraftian monstrosities. The sound promised chaos and evil and death.

If you wish to have a sort of placeholder sound to picture while reading, picture the shattering of glass and a baby’s cry.

* * *

‘What the hell was that?’ Luke gasped.

‘Oh, gods,’ Jason said, and his attention turned away from Luke. ‘That’s…’

 _Olympus_ , came Chronos’ voice, hissing and triumphant. _Olympus cracking, rending, crumbling. Falling. The gods are dead. Long may I live._

‘He’s… he’s lying,’ Jason said. ‘There's no… he can’t…’ But his face crumpled in on itself, and he sagged to his knees. ‘Olympus has fallen, then.’

Luke experienced one of those moments which had become increasingly common in the last few days, the realization of something which until that point he had not seriously considered. He realized that he had not really, not deep within his soul, thought that the gods would lose. He had always had, far back in the furthest corner of his mind, the vague concept that he would die in the attempt to take Olympus. The gods? Dead? The thought was something so completely alien to him that he found himself thinking, _Well, if Olympus has fallen, it’ll be alright eventually, the gods will take care of it_. When it finally hit him that the _gods were dead_ , he did not know what to do or where to go, mentally, from there. His heart seemed to stop.

‘That’s it, then,’ he said. ‘It’s over.’ He half-expected Jason to threaten him, but Jason did nothing at all.

‘It’s not,’ Thalia said suddenly, startling him. ‘It’s not over. These gods aren’t omniscient, any more than the old ones were. They can’t see everything or do everything.’

‘So?’ Luke said.

‘Annabeth might still be alive.’

And his heart pounded back to life. ‘Annabeth.’

‘Yes.’

‘We have to… we have to go, then. She’s…’ He looked around, frantically. ‘She’s in the city, by the Empire State… oh, gods, she’s so close…’

‘Come on,’ Thalia said. ‘The vans. By the Big House.’

‘Right,’ Luke said, and they took off running.

* * *

_To be or not to be—that is the question: whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing, end them._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and kudos, people. 
> 
> Survive!


	18. Chapter 18

It was dark by the time they made it into the city.

The Roman barricades were torn and shattered, scattered as if tossed by a giant hand. There were bodies, so many bodies, on the ground. The first sirens had begun to wail, as the Mist began to dissipate now that the gods were dead.

‘Annabeth!’ Luke called. He and Thalia had taken one of the vans. They had pulled to a stop by the first barricade, and were now searching on foot. ‘Annabeth! Are you there?’

Someone coughed, a deep, racking cough. Luke’s heart went to his throat – it was the cough of someone who is going to die – but when his eye went to the source of the sound he saw dark hair and felt a rush of (admittedly shameful) relief. It was Reyna, though he didn’t know her. He knelt.

‘You're calling for Chase?’ she asked, her eyes closed. There were three deep wounds in her chest, and one of her arms was hacked almost to pieces. ‘The Greek. She went…’ She coughed, again, and blood sprayed across her lips. ‘Went to get fire. North. To the vans.’

‘Thank you,’ Luke said.

‘You're Castellan?’ the Roman asked, her eyes fluttering open.

‘Yes.’

She took in a deep breath. ‘Fuck… you,’ she gasped, and died.

Luke stood and called Thalia, pointing north, to where he could see the white Camp Half-Blood vans clustered in a circle.

They ran, his legs pounding nearly as fast as his heart, which sounded like a chipmunk chattering in his ears. He considered the possibility of a heart attack, and decided that it was the sort of cruel trick only the gods would have liked to play. But they were dead now. He ran faster.

They came to the vans as the sun was beginning to set.

‘Annabeth?’ Thalia called. ‘Are you there?’

‘Thalia?’ came the answer, and Luke knelt and wept.

‘Are you okay?’ Thalia asked. ‘Where are you?’

One of the van doors slid open and Annabeth stepped out. One arm was covered in a bandage, her shirt was soaked in blood, her face was bruised, her hair was burnt, and she was limping, but she was alive. ‘Thalia,’ she managed. Thalia stepped forward in time to catch her.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘We’re here.’

‘We?’

Thalia nodded to Luke, who stood slowly.

‘You're going to be okay,’ Thalia said.

Annabeth closed her eyes. ‘I know.’

* * *

They drove back to Camp.

Jason was still there, just where they had left him, kneeling by the firepit, head hung low. The wolves had gone.

Teach, too, was lying where they had left him. When Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth approached, he sat up, legs stretched out in front of him, hands on the ground between his legs.

‘Teach,’ Luke said.

‘Yes?’ Teach said, looking up expectantly.

Luke stabbed him through the chest. Teach smiled, the first genuine smile Luke had ever seen on his face, and died.

‘And now your brother should do the same to me,’ Luke said.

‘No,’ Jason said, still kneeling and motionless. ‘I have decided I will not. I do not forgive you. You do not deserve it. But I think that you may one day earn it.’ He stood and shook himself, wolflike. ‘I go, now, to the north. I will join Lupa’s clan, since Rome is no more.’ He took Thalia’s hand and shook it, formally and almost exaggeratedly. ‘It was an honor to meet you, sister. When we meet again, let it be in Elysium, if such a place still exists.’ He turned and ran, suddenly and animalistically, up the rows of seats and away.

Thalia stared after him.

‘I didn’t like him,’ Annabeth said. ‘I'm sorry, Thals.’

‘It’s the Rome in him,’ Thalia said, but she seemed unsure.

They stood for a moment, looking after Jason, though they couldn’t see past the top of the amphitheater.

‘What do we do now?’ Luke asked finally. ‘Anna… I'm sorry.’

‘I don’t know whether I'm supposed to still hate you,’ she said. ‘But you saved Thalia, and you saved me, and you killed the Carthaginian…’

‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll go to the west,’ Thalia said. ‘Civilization moves west. And it looks like civilization over here is about to become… less civilized. We’ll go west.’

‘They’ll try to stop us,’ Luke said. ‘There’ll be monsters and Carthage soldiers and gods know what else. They’ll hunt us down, and all the other demigods that survived.’

‘I know,’ Thalia said. She picked a rifle up off the ground that had belonged to a Carthage soldier, and brushed off the barrel. ‘Let’s get going.’

* * *

_He had no nightmares that night. In fact, he had only one dream; and in that dream, he was with Thalia and Annabeth, running from gods and men and all creation, and they were smiling, and they were – incredibly, impossibly, against all odds and all nature – happy._

* * *

_The rest is silence._

\- The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. 
> 
> (If anyone wants to do a collab with me that would be really cool and you should tell me. I don't know much about AO3 so I don't know if that's a built-in option or whether it would be better over google docs or something. But anyway.)
> 
> Survive!


End file.
